


Harry Potter and the Trip Through Time

by Lorde_Shadowz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Identities, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Evil James Potter, F/M, Gen, Good Lily Evans Potter, Helpful Goblins, Helpful Grindelwald, Idiot Ministry of Magic, Idiot Wizengamot, Incognito Harry Potter, Incognito Ron Weasley, James Potter Bashing, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multiple lordships, Powerful Harry Potter, Powerful Ron Weasley, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Use of Love Potions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25372447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorde_Shadowz/pseuds/Lorde_Shadowz
Summary: You would think that after the fall of Voldemort Harry would get his ever after. But instead, his world is crumbling around him, and it seems that James Potter is not actually so dead after all. So in desperation, he decides, with Ron's help, to take a chance on a little-used spell...and takes the world by storm. Harry is dead, long live Aurelius Gaunt! And who in Merlin's name is Halcyon Gryffindor? (Note: this story can be found under the title Harry Potter and the Famous Rock on FF.net)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (under compulsions), Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger (under compulsions)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked, beginning to become worried at his wife's continued silence. He's spent his whole day preparing their anniversary dinner, charming the candles to float like in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, sending away for elvish sparkling moon-cider, renting the services of a house elf to make dinner, digging around in his vault for two days solid to find a good engagement present, and trying to make everything perfect for her.

She looked so beautiful in the flickering candlelight, red hair flowing in smooth curls, her gorgeous red velvet robes clinging to her breasts and stomach, chocolate brown eyes...filled with tears?

"Are you all right?" he repeated.

"N-no," she replied. "Harry, I- oh, Merlin!"

"Ginny, it's ok," Harry replied, now beginning to grow worried. "You can tell me. I swear I love you, and I always will, no matter what you say."

"B-but you don't," she said, now almost sobbing, her hand shaking around the flute of moon-cider, "you never did!"

"Of course I do," Harry replied, leaning forward, very worried now. What had he said? Had he done anything wrong?

"No. It was all amor-amor-amortentia!"

Harry dropped his own flute of elvish cider. _What?_

"I'm pregnant," she went on, "and the baby- oh, Merlin, the baby- conceived under potions- another Voldemort-"

Harry stared at her, his head spinning. What was she saying? How? Why?

"I wanted you- but you would never want me- I'm tainted- no one ever wanted me- no one but Tom- you saved me- oh, Merlin-"

Harry was shaking now. He'd loved her since his sixth year- he'd _married_ her- he'd planned a family- and it was all amortentia? It hit him for the first time, staring at her quivering frame, that she had never gotten counseling for her possession, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. How could he not have seen it? How could he not have seen what was wrong, what kind of husband was he? A drugged one, his treacherous mind whispered. He'd been drugged. For four years. She'd been drugging him. How had he not figured out?! "Look, Gin, I- I need to be alone for a moment," he said, voice quivering. He staggered to his feet, turned, and ran from the room.

He ran through the house that they had shared for two years, bolted into their shared bedchamber, and flung himself on the bed, panting, trying desperately to hold in his tears. All this time he'd been deluded, tricked, drugged. All this time he'd thought he loved her- all the years she'd stolen from him- the child she'd brought into the equation- his child-the child whose life would be a lie, a child who could be born without the ability to love, because his mother was mad...

He fell asleep still trying not to cry, and finally gave in when he made the mistake of opening his eyes and saw the room that they had slept in so many times, together, remembered how long he'd thought he'd been totally in love with her.

When he woke up, he was alone. At first, he couldn't remember what had happened- yesterday had been his anniversary, so why wasn't Ginny here with him? And then it all came rushing back, in waves. It took almost half an hour for him to muster the strength to get out of bed and go down to face his wife.

She wasn't in the kitchen. She wasn't even in the house. In fact, he found out from the newspaper, found out that the beautiful, young, pregnant Ginevra Potter had shot herself with a muggle shotgun, and was sequestered in St. Mungo's. She wasn't expected to wake. And she never did.

* * *

Harry sunk into a deep depression. The only thing that was keeping him sane, as a matter of fact, was caring for his godson Teddy; even the meals at the Burrow seemed tasteless and empty...although Molly Weasley's tacit blame did not help matters. And then the next disaster struck.

He had been sitting with blue-haired, giggling Teddy Lupin on the old leather divan in the flat he'd owned in the other timeline, blowing multicolored bubbles with his wand. When the boy tired of trying to pop them, he started to tell a story, one of the stories he told Teddy whenever the boy was fussy and tired.

"Once upon a time,"

"-At a school called Hogwarts-" Teddy broke in, anticipating.

"There was a boy called Remus Lupin, and his three best friends, Sirius, Pettigrew, and James Potter. Now this boy was different from all the other little boys in the school, not just because he was the smartest," (Teddy giggled) "but because he was under a dangerous curse. He was a werewolf."

Teddy ooohed, despite the fact that he had heard this story thousands and thousands of times.

"Now, in those days, having lycanthropy was not seem as a good thing at all, and Remus was afraid to tell his friends, because he thought that they wouldn't want to be friends with him. Every full moon, the nurse would take him out to the the deep, dark, Forbidden Forest, and lock him up in a cabin so that nothing could hurt him while he transformed.

"A transformed werewolf is very dangerous. The change from wizard to wolf is very painful, and it also makes the wolf really hungry, and so the wolf would always be in a bad mood, and sometimes he would want to bite people; that is why people are scared of werewolves.

"Of course, his friends would not have been concerned that he was a werewolf, but he was too afraid to tell them, because he hated the curse and he thought it would make him a monster. And so he would make excuses, and worry, and curl under the covers at night worrying about what they would do to him when they found out. What Remus didn't know was that his friends already knew.

"Now, Remus, Sirius, Pettigrew and James did everything together. They pulled pranks together, and they studied together (well, more like Remus studied and Sirius did the essay due for the very next period and Pettigrew copied the homework that James had copied off of his girlfriend Laura Greengrass while James read a quiddich magazine)" (Teddy giggled again) "But anyway, they were always together, and the only time they weren't was when James was playing for Gryffindor on the quiddich pitch or one of them was in the hospital wing. So they quickly realized that Remus was always gone at the same time.

"Sirius was the one who figured out he was a werewolf. Now, Sirius told the other two friends, and together they decided that they had to do something to help him. They all knew that he was lonely and hurting in the forest one night every month, and they didn't have Wolfsbane then, like they do now. So they went into the library and looked up lycanthropy, which was really saying something about how much they liked their friend, because none of them _ever_ read if it was not required for the core classes. They read, and they read, and they didn't find anything, and they were almost going to give it up when Sirius found something that said that a werewolf couldn't hurt you if you could turn into an animal."

"They looked up the spell for how to do that, which was really hard, and then they practiced, all without telling Remus that they knew. They practiced every night for two years, starting on the Christmas of their third year, and by the beginning of their fifth, they could turn into animals. Sirius was a big, shaggy black dog, because he loved to play- he was a puppy really."

Teddy sat straight at this part; it was his favorite.

"James became a big fat deer, with giant antlers, like this:" (Harry demonstrated the antlers with his hands) "because he was really vain and thought he was the best thing on planet earth-" (Teddy smiled sloppily at him) "and Pettigrew was a rat, because he was a sneaky backstabber and he wasn't really friends with the rest of them. So anyway, the next time Remus had to be locked in the cabin on the full moon, the other three snuck out of the castle under the cloak-"

"Prongs' cloak!" Teddy burst out, proud of himself, and Harry grinned widely.

"And they went to the cabin the nurse had left Remus in, and they unlocked the door. Remus was inside, and he was a wolf, and he was crying wolf tears because he was lonely and it hurt. And they came and opened the door and let him out, and they all ran around all over the forest that night in the moonlight until Remus fell asleep.

"And the next morning Remus woke up with nothing on, because when he'd turned into a wolf all his clothes had fallen off, and he looked around and saw all his friends around him, also naked, and asked what happened. And Sirius said 'we couldn't make the clothes change with us'. Remus asked what they were talking about, and Sirius said-"

"We wanted to be with you on the full moon!" Teddy yelled- this was his favorite part.

"And so that was how Remus and his friends spent every full moon after that." Harry summoned a glass of water, having grown rather thirsty Do you want to go outside now, or have ice cream?"

"Ice cream, uncle Harry! And can you tell me the one about how mum met papa?"

It was not very late, and while Harry normally inforced a bedtime, he was feeling indulgent that evening. So he gave Teddy the ice cream (chocolate and apricot with sprinkles and a foodsafe color-changing charm, and shaped into a wolf and a chameleon- Moony and the form Tonks had been trying to achieve when she died, not that Teddy knew that). He bathed the reluctant boy with magical soap and tucked him in, telling him more stories on the little boy's demand.

He was on the third story, and thinking that he should wrap it up on the fourth, when there was a knock at the door. It was too insistent to be Neville or Luna and too polite to be any of his old dorm-mates (besides Neville, obviously). Perhaps it was Andromeda Tonks, home early? But she certainly wouldn't knock to enter her own house...

Hastily he got up and went to the door, carrying a sleepy Teddy, only to see Dolores Umbridge and two aurors.

"Ms. Umbridge. May I ask what you are doing here?" Harry asked, very frigidly.

"Just my job, Mr. Potter," was her simperimg reply. "Where's the beast?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your godson, Mr. Potter," she said as if he was incredibly slow-witted. "The werewolf. Why have you not brought him for extermination?"

"Extermination?" Harry asked, his voice very quiet. "First of all, he never inherited lycanthropy. Secondly, I would not hand over any child to you, ever, especially for 'extermination'. Thirdly, it's eleven pm, and I do, contrary to popular belief, need my sleep."

"Of course he inherited it, even if it's recessive. Do you take me for an idiot?"

Harry applauded himself for not saying "yes.""That is impossible," he said instead. "The only way you can get lycanthropy is by blood contact, which means that a child can only get it from his mother. Secondly, there is no such thing as 'recessive lycanthropy' because it is not a genetic disease."

"Regardless, he's the son of a werewolf. The law demands that every werewolf be confined in the Ministry-run Sanitary Habitations within one year of turning, or within one month of the law having been passed- there was certainly adequate time to comply. Your godson was not turned in at the appointed date. Therefore he must face the consequences, for the good of society Mr. Potter."

"And what might the...consequences be for this imagined crime?"

"Extermination, of course, these are brutal, bloodthirsty beasts, Mr. Potter."

Teddy buried his face in Harry's neck, and Umbridge's eye latched onto the sudden movement.

"Hand it over, Mr. Potter."

Harry understandably refused.

"The law is the law, Mr. Potter- noncompliance must be punished," she said again.

And then the aurors stunned him. And he had to watch twin beams of unnatural green strike the screaming, and then whimpering child, had to watch the vibrant teal hair turn white in death.

* * *

The worst part of it was that he could not prosecute her. Not only because Teddy was not blood kin, but also because it was actually the law- he had read every tome in The London Scribatorium, a Wizarding library, only to find out that it was perfectly legal for such a thing to happen. Harry grew more and more depressed, ingesting more firewhiskey than was probably healthy and throwing himself into his work alongside a grieving Ron- the only Weasley who had not been cold to him since Ginny's suicide, trying to tell himself that if he only hunted down the last of the Death Eaters and the Snatchers who had escaped at the end of the war, everything would be ok.

It wasn't, but the final straw came the very next month, when a perfectly alive James Potter showed up on his doorstep. For a long moment he had simply stared, taking in the face so like his own, the messy, greying hair, the warm brown eyes.

"Dad?" he whispered.

"Hello Harry," replied the man. "Can I come in?"

"Hang on, first, what is your Maurader name?" Harry asked. "You have to forgive me for being a little suspicious here..."

"Prongs. I was Prongs." And the man abruptly changed shape, morphing, momentarily, into a great stag.

Harry made a sound, low in his chest, that was suspiciously like s sob. After all these years of longing for his father to be there for him...now he was. Just when he needed a shoulder to cry on.

Quickly, he lead the way into his flat, casting a few quick household charms to tidy it for the visitor- there were rather too many empty firewhiskey bottles and rather too much dust from his past three months of grieving.

"You want a drink?" he asked, cautiously. Hell, he didn't even know if his father drank at all! He didn't know anything about him!

"That would be great, thanks," James replied, seating himself familiarly on the sofa. Harry returned with two glasses of wine and sat down across from him.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, Harry drinking in his father's features. At last, Harry spoke, in nearly a whisper. "Why?"

"Why what?" James asked, unperturbed.

Why what indeed. Why had he not come back for him? Why had he allowed Harry to think he was dead? Why had he only shown up now? These and more questions churned in Harry's brain.

"Where's Mum?" he settled for at last.

"Who?"

Something was seriously wrong here. "My mom. Lily Potter. Your _wife_?" Harry tried.

"Oh." The little sound would have been comical if it hadn't been so unnerving. "The mudblood. Right."

Harry went totally still. "Wait. What did you say?"

"Lily. Yes, I remember. It was a pity..."

"What was a pity?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

"She died. It wasn't part of the plan, you know. I mean, it wasn't like I was going to keep her around forever, but I didn't want her _dead._ "

Harry had gone numb. Everything seemed surreal, like some horrible dream. "What plan?" he asked finally, quite sure he was not going to like what he heard.

James blinked a few times. "Well, the war was still going strong when Lily and I were married, and Dumbledore wanted You-Know-Who to be defeated, so he made up this prophecy and had Trelawny recite it when he knew a Death Eater named Snape- you probably know him- was listening in. Snivellus went crawling back to his master like a good little Death Muncher, and we were all set. Unfortunately, Voldie attacked a bit too early. The plan had been for Pettigrew to tell Voldie where our house was, and then we would lay a trap for him. He attacked two hours before we were expecting it. I cast some protective wards and went to get Dumbledore, but by the time he got there Lils was already dead and so was Voldie, so I made sure Dumbledore was coming to get you and faked my own death. Then I went to France until the war settled down- Marjorie was pregnant, and-"

"Wait." Harry's voice cracked. "The prophecy was _fake_? And you _let_ Pettigrew take the secret to Voldemort?" a stunned pause, as Harry tried to assimilate the rest of the information. "And who's Marjorie?"

"Yes, yes, and my wife."

"Your what?!"

"My wife."

"But...I thought..." Harry was having trouble breathing.

"If you'd been raised pureblood you'd know that a concubine claimed under the Pleasure Law is not a full wife."

"Why wasn't I?" Harry asked, swallowing his anger. Judging by James's smirk, he wasn't very successful. "Raised pureblood, I mean."

"Dumbledore wanted control over you, so I gave it to him. It's not like I didn't already have an heir."

"...didn't already have an heir?" Harry echoed.

"Oh yes, your half-brother, Marcus. He's technically the legal Potter heir..."

"And me?" Harry asked, throat closing up.

"We'll, you're the spare."

A cold chill swept over Harry as he sat there, and suddenly Voldemort's high, thin voice was echoing in his ears. 'Kill the spare!'

"Why didn't you even check on me? Did you know I was abused? And Sirius- why didn't you try to clear his name?"

"Harry," James said in a slow voice as if explaining things to a child, "A dead man can't show up to give testimony. If I were to do either thing, I would have broken my cover, and that wouldn't be so good."

Harry stared at him. "You're a bloody wizard! What's to stop you from using polyjuice?"

"Well, Dumbledore told me he had everything under control. Besides, I had Marjorie and the kids to think about."

Harry could only stare. "What is the Pleasure Law?" he asked at last.

"Well, if a pureblood wizard impregnates a muggleborn witch, he's within his rights to press her into a kind of marriage, to protect the child. That's what happened with Lils, as a matter of fact, I couldn't just let her fend for herself, you know. Too bad the kid turned out to be a squib."

"Wait. What? Mum was pregnant when you married? What happened to the kid?"

"Orphanage," was James's dismissive response. "Not much else you can do with a a squib. Lils wasn't happy about it, but it wasn't like we could keep her."

"So you took advantage of her, forced her into marriage, made her give up the baby and then let her die?" Harry asked, deadly calm. James winced, but Harry noticed that he didn't deny it.

"She was only a mudblood," he responded. "You should be grateful Snivellus didn't get her, then _he_ would have been your father."

"I wish he was!" Harry exploded. "The man may have been a bastard, but he did more for the Wizarding World in one year than you did in your entire miserable life, and died for it, too, died while you were sitting back on your arse eating bonbons with your new pureblood wife. Get out, James Potter. Get the Hell out of my house."

"Mine, actually, since I own the deeds," responded James viciously. "I was going to let you keep it, but since you're acting like a spoiled little brat, I think it's time you move out. And _I'll_ be taking that, he added as Harry started folding the invisibility cloak which had until that point been hanging over the back of the rocking chair.

Harry punched him in the nose, _accioed_ his personal belongings and left without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Light slash content and alcohol use.

Harry was furious, and he was actually a little scared. Taking his bag with him, he applied a quick glamour and spent the afternoon walking around the welcoming little town of Godric's Hollow, strolling through parks and window shopping in the quiet downtown, and more just trying not to cry or pulverize something with his magic. At last, when he was reasonably calm, he apparated to the flat belonging to Ron and Hermione. What he was not expecting was for a rather tipsy and evidently very angry Ron to meet him at the door.

"Ron? Are you okay? What's the matter?" Harry asked, forgetting his own anger at once.

"Y-you'd better come in," Ron replied. "You'll probably need to sit down for this."

"Sit down for what?" Harry asked, following him inside the unusually messy flat. "Where are Hermione and Rose?"

" _Don't_ talk to me about that bitch!" Ron burst out, blue eyes flashing. He ushered Harry into the living room and summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses with an angry flick of his wand. "Parvati Patil- do you remember her?- she's babysitting Rose right now. I have no idea where Hermione is and I really don't care."

"Why? What happened?" Harry asked, with a sudden sinking feeling. Surely she wouldn't-

"She would," Ron replied, and Harry realized that he had spoken aloud. Ron poured them both a glass of firewhiskey and drank his down in one gulp. "Used amortentia and was cheating on me with Krum the whole time. They deserve each other!"

"But why?" Harry choked, unable to reconcile the image of a cheating conniving bitch with the fuzzy-haired girl that had made friends with them in his first year.

"Why? Because Albus Bloody Dumbledore promised her Minister of Magic or the Arithmancy post at Hogwarts, whichever she preferred, and a lifelong pension, incidentally from _your_ vaults."

" _My_ vaults?

"Yes. The bastard was your magical guardian, since Sirius's name was never really cleared. He could take whatever he wanted. Not to mention he was Albus Dumbledore, defeated of Grindelwald."

Harry stared at him for a long time, and then decided that it would be prudent to get a glass of firewhiskey himself.

"What else?" he asked hoarsely. "What else did she tell you?"

"My family was all in Dumbledore's pocket," Ron continued, pouring another glass with shaking hands. "That's why the twins wanted to be out on there own so bad. Dumbledore was the one to order Ginny to potion you- when he died, she wanted to tell you, but was too afraid to. _Dumbledore_ was indirectly responsible for Ginny's death! He used a cocktail of potions on the students and staff of Hogwarts to prevent them from figuring out what he was doing, and Hermione, Professor Babbling, and Madame Pomfrey were complicit. So was Snape, but he was being blackmailed and threatened apparently." Ron took another drink, the words seeming to come easier with the influence of alcohol.

"He knew everything that was going on in Hogwarts, including about Quirrell, the basilisk, Sirius's innocence, Moody, the fact that you could have gotten out of the tournament, Voldie's portkey plot, Umbitch and her Black quills, the fact you were a horcrux, the fact there was a way to get the horrible thing out of you without killing you, and the fact Pettigrew was an animagus. Also, you could have claimed the carcass of the basilisk as 'rightful chattel' under the Kazinsky Law. He let thousands of galleons of potions ingredients go to waste because he didn't want you to have them! He was the reason you had to stay at the Dursleys, even though your mum was apparently adopted. Oh yeah, and he set you up to die multiple times, not counting all our adventures, which were apparently 'training'. And Hermione and my family helped with all of it!" He drank again, then refilled Harry's glass.

It took a few moments for everything to sink in, and then the glass in Harry's hand abruptly exploded. "WHAT!"

"Dumbledore was about as Light as Voldemort, and my family and 'Mione were in on it," Ron responded. "And he was illegally using your votes on the Wizengamot, and your gold for bribes, and plotting your death, after having made himself your magical guardian. Also, your mum was adopted and was a halfblood. Oh, and apparently he framed Grindelwald. "

Harry, not having a glass to drink from anymore, took a long swallow directly from the bottle and handed it back to Ron. "James Potter is alive," he contributed. "And he kicked me out of my own house in favor of his 'true', pureblood heir," he contributed. "Also, he raped my mum and forced her into marriage, and I have a half-brother and a squib sister that I never knew about."

Ron made a strangled sound of outrage and gulped the last of his glass of whiskey. "We did everything right," he rasped at last. "We killed the bad guy, won the war, got decent OWL grades...why is everything going so wrong?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but don't you wish we could go back in time? Like, not twenty-four hours or whatever the limit is with a timeturner but like back to when we were firsties, before all the stupid 'tests' and all the people dying?" Harry asked wistfully, swirling the two inches left in the bottle. He could feel himself growing maudlin with the alcohol haze and pressed closer against Ron for comfort.

Ron settled back, blue eyes slipping half-shut. Then, abruptly, he straightened up. "That's it!"

"What?"

"You know there's a way to do that," Ron said softly. "I came across a ritual in the Restricted Section once."

"I thought that's impossible?" Harry asked, through the fog. "And- wait, when were you ever in the Restricted Section?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised. I _do_ read sometimes. It was my second year and we were getting out _Moste Potente Potions_ , and I saw a book called _100,000 Spells You Should Never Use_. I couldn't _not_ look!" Ron's voice was beginning to slur.

" _100,000 Spells You Should Never Use_?" Harry asked, giggling. Somehow the title of the book sounded outrageously funny.

"Yeah. Fred and George would have had a field day..." Ron took the bottle out of his hands and drank. "Might as well finish this. 'S not like we're gonna put back an inch of it."

"Hope Duffer or whatever his name is knows you're not going in tomorrow," Harry responded, gulping the last of the bottle. He felt rather sick, especially since he hadn't bothered to have any dinner, but at this point he didn't particularly want to be sober. He felt he actually had a right to drink, after all that he'd learned that year. Somehow his head managed to fall on Ron's shoulder.

"Oh, I told him. Not everything, 'course, jus that me and 'Mione had a fight."

Harry nodded. "I sssee," he responded, his voice trailing off into parseltongue on the last word. "You...you think there's really such a thing as long distance time travel?"

"Yeah," Ron responded. "Damn, did you drink the last of it?

Harry giggled again, hilarity gradually overcoming the last remnants of sense in his brain. "You think we should do it?"

"Why not?" Ron responded, turning his head. Their faces were very close...

It happened all at once, green eyes met blue and suddenly they were kissing in a drunken haze, lips sloppily coming together. Harry was surprised at how good it felt.

And then slowly the already misty world melted away into nothingness.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry awoke with a horrible headache and a warm weight on his chest. A warm weight which turned out to be an equally hungover Ron. What the hell had happened? And then everything came rushing back to him. Teddy dead. James Potter alive. Dumbledore evil. The Weasleys traitors, except for Ron and the twins; well, twin, now. Hermione evil. Their mad, drunken plan...which couldn't possibly work, but which was sounding better and better every minute.

He shook Ron, who groaned. "H'rry! S'too early!"

Harry completely concurred, but summoned two headache relievers anyway. It was a testament mostly to his formidable core and finely-honed control that, even with the worst headache he had ever had since his visions from Voldemort two years before, the vials scarcely wobbled as they flew through the air. He caught them with the ease of Gryffindor's one time star Seeker and uncorked one of them immediately, gulping it down. Damn. Why did they always have to taste so aweful? Still, after a few moments of nausea, his hangover died away completely, and his head was clear enough to try to get Ron up, as the man had already fallen back asleep.

"Ron!"

Ron buried his face in his pillow. He'd never gotten up early in all the years Harry had known him, unless there was quiddich practice, an emergency, or bacon, and after such a wild night, it was very likely that nothing short of Voldemort could startle him into any semblance of wakefulness.

"Ron!" Harry repeated, uncorking the bottle and making his friend swallow it. Ron blinked a few times, swallowed hard, and tried to go back to sleep.

Harry gave it up, and went to rummage in Ron's kitchen for something to make breakfast with. Before long, he was slicing fruit- even with potions, it was probably not a good idea to eat anything heavy- and making porridge and eggs the muggle way.

Ron came down in another half hour, red hair mussed and clothes rumpled, and gave him a sheepish grin. "Um...so...what now?"

"We eat, and then I think we need to talk, you and I."

Ron looked at the food and groaned. "Right. Never thought I'd say this, but I'm not hungry."

Harry pantomimed fainting, but nodded and put everything but the fruit under chef's stasis. They managed a few slices of peach and orange before Harry gave it up and just watched Ron, who stopped himself after another slice of pear, and then they simply sat there over the nearly-full fruit bowl in silence.

"Ok," said Harry at last. "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't remember too much from last night," Ron replied, blinking as he tried to focus. "Didn't you say you couldn't go back to the house in Godric's Hollow though?"

"Yeah. Daddy _dearest_ apparently owns the deeds. Thought he left them to me, but I guess not."

"You can crash on my couch as long as you need it, Harry. But what about long term?"

"I want to try something," Harry replied. "Something dangerous as hell which might kill us or might just give us a chance to do everything over again, and do it right."

Ron gave him a long look. "Somehow I'm sensing this is probably going to be illegal. What do you mean?"

"Um. Maybe. Do you remember much about what we were talking about after we finished venting about Albus Too-Many-Names-For-His-Own-Good Dumbledore?"

Ron paused, and then blushed violently. "We kissed," he contributed. "But no, I don't remember much else. Probably shouldn't have had that much firewhiskey."

"You said something about the Restricted Section and long-distance time travel."

"Whoa. I did _not_ expect that."

"Yeah, but...it's a nice thought, isn't it?" Harry said wistfully.

"It would be horrendously hard," responded Ron. "I _did_ read a book in the Restricted section which contained some time-travel spells; I was really curious. I also read a book specifically about time travel a year ago, s'called _The Golden Hourglass, the Methods and Mechanics of Traversing Time_. It said that long-distance time travel is actually possible with the right preparations, unless you go farther back in time than your birth; if you do that you explode. You're not supposed to meet yourself, or change things, unless everything is really drastic, because you can end up changing the future so much that you don't exist, so you should always take a friend with you to try to iron out any mistakes that you make. Also, time has a habit of partially repairing itself. Even if you _were_ to go back and kill Voldemort as a child, per say, someone else would become a dark lord instead. So to keep things changing, you have to stay in the timeline you're trying to change, which is really, _really_ problematic. Essentially the only way to really truly go back in time and fix things would be to do a dark ritual to literally reintegrate with our younger bodies."

Harry stared at him. Then he drew his wand. "Ron. What is the password to the Marauders' Map?"

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. What did I say?"

"How the _hell_ are you a sudden expert on time-travel?"

Ron muttered an expletive and looked down at his lap for a long moment. "Her-Granger was always complaining that I wasn't a good conversationalist in anything but quiddich and clobbering dark wizards. So I looked up the most obscure things I could think of and self-studied until I was 'good enough' for her."

Harry winced. "I see." There was a long silence.

"So when you say it's dark, what does that entail? Liiike, illegal dark?"

Ron nodded. "We'll have to get the actual book; it's been a long time, but the spell in the Restricted sections was a complicated ritual involving runes, two potions, blood magic, and some Gaelic chants. And I think one of the potions and the runic circle require human blood."

"Right. Splendid. So how dangerous is it?"

"Harry!"

Harry grinned, but sobered up almost at once. "Ron, I'm not asking you to come with me, but...there's almost nothing left for me in this timeline. I've got no job, no vaults, since whatever James doesn't have, the goblins froze for our stunt during the war, I get fans wanting me to autograph their breasts but no one who actually cares except you, and all I want is to make things right. So if I can safely make it back in time, then I will. I owe it to Teddy. To Tonks. To Remus. To Sirius. To Fred and Colin and Ginny and Snape and Moody and all the other people who _died_ because I wasn't smart enough, or fast enough, or in the right place at the right time to make a difference. I need to do this."

"You'll hear no argument from me," replied Ron at long last. "I want to win the war without so many people dying, and I want Dumbledore to pay. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey and 'M-'Mione, and everyone that's ever hurt us. The hell I'm not coming with you! But it's not as simple as all that. First of all, the ingredients are going to be hideously expensive, and both of our accounts are frozen. I got George to get most of mine out a while back, citing 'right of kin' but we still don't have nearly enough. Plus, I think we should make some plans beforehand, because once you're at the Dursleys and I'm with my family again it will be harder to get together until Hogwarts without anyone being suspicious."

"Well, first of all, we need the book. Where was it that you found the spell?"

" _100,000 Spells You Should Never Use_ ," Ron replied. Harry winced. It sounded almost prophetic.

"You think we can get it in Knock Turn?" he asked calmly.

"It's out of print."

"Well damn," Harry swore. "Do you think we can sweet-talk Minerva into letting us borrow it?"

"Minnie, maybe, as long as we don't tell her what it's for. But if you think for a heartbeat that Madame Pince is going to let us borrow one of her precious books..."

"Right, I forgot about that. Do you know how to disable copyright charms?"

"Disable copy - oh! No, we don't need to know." Ron grinned. "All the copyright charms have already been taken off, so that the students can copy information for their essays!"

"How do you know that?"

Ron's face darkened. "Osmosis. 'Mion- Granger was always reading parts of _Hogwarts, a History_ , out loud to me. I'll admit, some of it was fascinating, but..." his voice trailed off.

Harry felt horrible for bringing it up. "Oh, sweet Merlin! Sorry, Ron."

"Don't. That bitch is the only one who needs to apologize. So, are we...do you want to do this? Once we start, it'll be too hard and too much of a waste to stop halfway through."

Harry was silent for a long moment. "Yes," he replied at last. "Are you with me?"

"Yes, absolutely." Ron chuckled a little. "We never seem to do things by halves, do we? Single-handedly trying to protect the school, going down to the Chamber of Secrets itself, running around in the Forbidden forest to talk to giant sentient spiders-" he shuddered.

"Don't forget breaking into the most secret part of the Ministry, hunting horcruxes with the sword of Gryffindor, and riding a ruddy dragon."

"So...should we get out of our nightclothes?" asked Ron after another short, nostalgic silence.

Harry had forgotten he was still wearing them. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea. Um, can I maybe borrow some robes?"

"Of course!" Ron retreated into the bedroom and returned wearing pale golden semi-formal robes and carrying some red ones for Harry. "Your turn to change; you can have the bathroom."

Harry hurriedly pulled on the robes, pulled a comb through his messy black hair and returned to the kitchen.

"If you'll just give me a second, I'm warding Granger out so that she doesn't get any ideas. And then should we stop by Hogwarts?"

"Absolutely. Once we have the recipe, we can do more of the planning and buying," was Harry's response. And within half an hour, they had apparated to just in front of the gates of Hogwarts.

They entered quietly reminiscing about their Hogwarts days, and as it was about nine in the morning, classes had already started, and so except for a few students whose free period it was, they escaped relatively unscathed. They ascended the spiral staircase up the Headmasters' tower, and at last came to the top, where the gargoyle, no longer password-protected (as the war was over, Minerva Mcgonagall had felt no need to 'protect' her office, a decision that Harry fully agreed with, since during Dumbledore's leadership nearly any given firstie knew that you could just list candies and the door would open when Dumbledore wanted it to).

As they came in, Mcgonagall looked up from a pile of documents, setting down her pen so that it wouldn't drip. A smile creased the aging face as she recognized her favorite lions."Oh, hello! How can I help you?"

"Um, we'd like access to the library, if that's ok. And maybe if you have time we could have a chat?"

Headmistress Mcgonagall smiled. "Absolutely. Although..." she looked almost like she did not want to ask. "Why do you want to visit the library?"

"Ron wanted to find a book from the Restricted Section he'd read a long time ago." Harry supplied, figuring that a partial truth would be easier to defend, and not having anything else made up on the fly.

"I see." Mcgonagall pursed her lips. "I'm going to assume that it's for research only. May I ask when were you in the Restricted Section, Ronald?"

Ron blushed, and Harry couldn't help thinking that he looked rather cute. At last he squared his shoulders. "Second year. 'Mion- _Granger_ had Lockhart autograph a permission slip, and of course the idiot didn't read what he was signing, so we had a chance to look around. I got an extra book while Granger was looking for _Moste Potente Potions_."

"Granger? Have you two been fighting?" Mcgonagall began. And then the rest of the sentence seemed to catch up to her. "What were you doing with _Moste Potente Potions_ in _Second Year_?!"

"Brewing polyjuice in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Harry replied calmly. At Ron's horrified look, he gave an impish grin and added: "you can't take points for it, either."

Had Minerva Mcgonagall had been an ordinary woman, she probably would have facepalmed. As it was, she only huffed a long sigh. "I see. Dare I ask if you actually _drank_ it?"

"Yeah. It worked, too. We snuck into the Slytherin Common Room to spy on Draco. Ron and I were Crabbe and Goyle and 'Mione accidentally drank cat hair, serve her right." Harry paused. "We should probably get to the library before it's swamped with Ravenclaws on their free period. Are you doing anything for lunch?"

"Just paperwork, and that can wait," Mcgonagall replied. "I...well, carry on. And don't do anything stupid!" she added as the two young men turned to go. Ron called back cheekily, "Love you too, Headmistress," and then they began to make their way towards the Hogwarts library.

They strolled into the Hogwarts library only a few minutes later, where they were immediately accosted by Madame Pince, as if they were Gryffindor firsties again, dragged into the library by a bubbling Hermione. She pursed her lips and looked suspicious, but when they explained that they were only there to look at a rare book in the Restricted Section, she made them promise not to damage it and let them go on in; after all, they _were_ grown wizards now. So they made their way toward the stacks, the ward line only buzzing, as they were of age, and scanned rows and rows of nasty-looking Dark Arts books.

"I'm not finding it," Ron said, after they had spent an hour searching for it.

"Do you reckon we should just ask Madame Pince for help? I mean, I'm sure we can come up with an excuse if she asks, and she's not really supposed to ask, anyway."

"Hang on," responded Ron, who was shifting a stack of obviously contraband _Playwizards_. "I think it's supposed to be on this shelf..."

"I'll take your word for it," replied Harry, who was just looking for any books that mentioned time at all, as he had forgotten the title of the book that they were searching for anyway. He continued down the aisle, careful not to touch any books that were leaking darkness, marked with "caution, biting book" tags, or had caterwauling charms on them.

At last, Ron called him over. "This is it," he said, showing Harry a rather nondescript-looking green book, with the title: _10,000 Spells You Should Never Use_ embossed on it's cover. It fairly reeked of defensive magic. Ron, having more ward training than Harry (his brother _was_ a specialist) broke the protections on it, luckily without setting off the library alarms. Then he handed the book to Harry. "C'mon, we've got to get out of here."

Harry frowned. "We're just taking the book? I mean, shouldn't we duplicate it?" He cast a glance over his shoulder, in case Madame Pince was watching them, but she was occupied with checking out a lone Ravenclaw, and had her back to him, writing something in her great record book. Harry seized his chance. A twitch of his wand, a mutter of _gemino_ , and two identical books lay at his feet: he had duplicated it. He smirked, then handed the duplicated book to Ron.

"We should check out something legitimate," he hissed. "Or at least look around. It would be really suspicious to just straight up _leave_."

"Ok," Ron replied, and with another flick of his wand, he banished the copy to his flat. When Madame Pince came over a few minutes later to ask if they needed any help finding anything, the two of them were simply browsing, Harry sitting in an overstuffed Gryffindor red armchair in a little nook, innocently perusing the latest fiction speculating about his early life- something about having a pet griffin at age six, and living in Potter Castle with doting and clueless muggle relatives, who has strange, overly elaborate contraptions even just to squeeze an orange or flush a toilet, while Ron was reading something called _Which Witch, Fifty Easy Matchmaking Spells_ (which had been the first thing he could grab) and trying to keep a straight face.

She seemed a little suspicious, but, then, as long as they weren't hurting her books, she did not have any business asking what they were reading, so when they told her they'd found what they needed, she simply gave them her patented stern look and walked back to her desk.

As soon as she had gone, Ron dropped the matchmaking book like it was a jar of flobberworm snot and gave a stifled giggle. "Sweet Merlin, have you _seen_ some of these spells?!"

Harry put down his own choice with equal disgust. "I am definitely suing the Prophet when we get back," he said, sliding it over to Ron across the library table. "And whoever published this thing. I mean seriously, they were publishing these as _fact_? Look at it- _Harry Potter and the Griffin of the Sun!_ I've never even _seen_ a griffin, except in that one COMC class, and I certainly never _had one as a pet_!"

"You'll be seeing a griffin soon enough, mate," said Ron with a strange expression. That caught Harry off guard.

"What?"

"You'll see," Ron responded, then drew a notebook out of his pocket, presumably to add 'suing Wizarding publishers for making money on an orphan' to their bucket list of less urgent things they meant to change on the way out of Hogwarts, before Harry could try to get him to elaborate. Harry was rather frustrated, but it _had_ been a good idea, and besides, Ron usually couldn't keep secrets unless they were very important, so Ron would probably end up telling him anyway, later. Harry sighed, but slid the book of drivel which he had just picked up back into a bookself and walked around to look over Ron's shoulder at the notebook, in which was written a loose bullet list of things to change.

"Add befriending Rita Skeeter to that," Harry said calmly. "She'd be a good ally."

"Yeah. I bet for the right price and the promise of headlines she could have made Voldemort's rebirth sound like the second coming of Merlin," Ron responded it, adding it. Then he snapped shut the notebook. "'Cmon, we got to get checked out. We got more planning to do, and then we have to shop."

Harry grabbed a couple of DADA books to check out as a blind and headed to the front desk, Ron following, where Madame Pince made them swear a minor oath (with a penalty of horrendous bad luck) if they so much as ripped the covers, and warned them to bring the books back before the end of the school year, along with the usual admonishments, and they were out of the library almost before she'd stamped their books.

They returned to Ron's apartment at once, where the book was waiting for them, just inside the door. Harry almost tore out one of the pages in his haste to gather it up; at this point, the all-encompassing grief which had consumed him for most of that year had been replaced with a fire of determination; mourning was not nearly so terrible when one knew that he had the power to insure that the wizards who died wouldn't again. Ron was just as enthusiastic, and soon they were curled on the couch together under a conjured blanket (Ron could not stand to look at any of the ones he already had, considering that Hermione had picket the colors) and reading the book that had the capability to change their lives- and the world- forever.

_10,000 Spells You Should Never Use_ was even more interesting reading than he would have expected. Some of the spells in that book were the darkest of the dark, which was why it was in the Restricted Section in the first place. Others were obsolete, such as conjuring chamber pots, translating Greek to Helvetian, and so on, or absurd, such as causing a thousand day-glow parrots to spell "Marry me, ( _name_ )" in the sky, causing someone to talk in bad Spencerian sonnets for a week, making someone's ear hair five inches long and sentient, turning someone's blood invisible, or making everything one ate taste like chestnuts. That last curse would have been nice to use on Umbridge, especially as it was permanent, but unfortunately you had to cast it on yourself.

Some of the spells, though, were absolutely genius.

"Look at this one!"

Harry, who had been trying to memorize the curse of diminishing decency, which made a piece of one's clothing vanish every time someone said a predetermined word, glanced over to where Ron was pointing. "What?"

"The butterfingers curse," Ron explained. "Undetectable revenge that only lasts twenty-four hours. This could definitely be fun."

"So could this," Harry responded, pointing at a spell to make any hair style someone was currently wearing into a mullet. "You think it could grow one on a bald guy?"

"Merlin only knows," Ron replied, still reading. "Say, look at this! We're _so_ using that on Dumbledore."

Considering that it was a curse that made the victim change gender every time he/she sneezed, and considering that it was permanent, Harry definitely approved.

Shortly thereafter, Harry found a spell to make a caricature of your rival on any blank piece of parchment he or she touched (Harry would have to remember _vultum detorqueo_ \- he couldn't wait to use it on James), which Ron agreed would make great revenge. All well and good, but they still hadn't found the ritual that they were looking for. Was it even in the book? Had Ron mixed up the title? They went on.

After reading through several more pages of random curses (they were apparently ranked in the order of 'most useless'; at least that's how it looked, as Harry couldn't find any other explanation that made more sense for the utter lack of organization) such as the itching eyeballs curse, the random hedgehog transformation curse, misspelling curse, a spell specifically designed for conjuring ink, and a curse causing crippling addiction to cake, Ron slowly lowered the book.

"Fred would have had a field day with this," Ron commented sadly, and just like that, Harry's mood abruptly plummeted.

"Yeah," was his quiet response. "We'll have to make sure he gets a copy if we make it back." And thus they kept on reading, wading through progressively more serious and sinister curses, curses that would be quite lovely to use on their enemies. Harry, for one, was vastly excited by the curse that caused a witch or wizard to transform permanently into his or her worst nightmare- that would be quite enjoyable to use on Umbridge, after what she'd done to him- and the curse of hindsight, a spell which made one receive full knowledge of all the ways that dead acquaintances and loved ones could have been saved.

At last, on page 7345, he found it. _Facere Vita Iterum_. It was complicated, expensive, and of the sort that the Ministry of Magic would probably consider dark with a capital 'D'. Fortunately, however, the ritual did not include either human sacrifice or torture, and the accompanying potion had no human organs on the ingredient list. The fact that the lines of the ritual circle and the accompanying runes had to be drawn in one's own blood was mildly disturbing, though, not that it wouldn't be worth it, considering that this ritual would give them the means to fix the train wreck which was their lives. Even if they would need at least three blood replenishers- five pints of magical human blood willingly given is a very large amount, and wizards certainly didn't have blood banks.

"Damn," whispered Ron at last, staring at the withered pages. It seemed that he had finally realized just how much of a production this would be. "Thunderbird feathers, winged serpent scales, kitsune fur, phoenix tears, a whole gallon of basilisk venom- how the heck are we going to get all this stuff, never mind afford it all!"

"Well, I know a few dark wizards on Knock Turn I can blackmail for some of that," Harry responded seriously; he, despite what the public tended to think, was not quite as Light as he looked, although he had never had any interest in truly evil magic. "And we can owl order the thunderbird feathers straight from the native reservations. As for the venom, do you still know how to say 'open' in parselmouth?"

"Yeah, I...oh!"

"You couldn't have punctured _both_ venom sacks when you were down there, and venom doesn't spoil, so we can just get however much venom we need from our own personal supply, without worrying about coughing up- what's the going price now?" Harry asked, not really expecting a reply. Ron was not exactly into studying the economy.

"180,050 G an ounce, and more on the black market," Ron responded promptly, and sighed as he stared. "And don't ask."

"I wasn't going to; I trust you," Harry said. "I was just curious, that's all."

There was a short silence, and then Ron burst out: "You know, we could just sell the thing; that would solve all our problems!"

"What thing, the basilisk?"

"Yeah, the basilisk, Harry, of course! Not the venom, obviously- we'll need that, and it's too dangerous to let out of our hands, anyway- but the rest of it will totally work to finance our little 'vacation'."

"That's a great idea! But won't it all have rotted?"

"The Chamber is pretty much temperature controlled, what with being underground and having a bunch of parselmagic saturating it- at least, I assume that's what happened. Anyway, the last time I saw it it looked pretty much fine. I suppose it might just be that not that many things can eat basilisk, and that includes microbes apparently."

Harry blinked. "Ok, I'm feeling really outclassed right now. Can we stop and have a snack?"

Ron grinned, although Harry doubted it would ever be quite like the grin that had once spread all around his face. He'd seen too much to be truly carefree again. The grin faded a little more as Ron commented: "I never thought I'd be able to _outclass_ anyone."

"Ron, you were always smart!" Harry protested. "You just didn't apply that studying. Remember when you beat Mcgonagall's killer chess board?"

"How could I forget?"

They chattered about the old times for a bit, nearly forgetting their mission and their separate griefs, while Ron made sandwiches the muggle way, not wanting to use any of the household charms that his mother had taught him, as he felt they were tainted with betrayal. At last, when the last bits of lettuce and tomato and crumbs had been _scourgified_ away, Ron turned to Harry, freckled face serious once again. "Oh, um, Harry? Before I forget, I...would kind of like to show you something."

Harry's interest was piqued. "What?"

Ron got out of his chair. "Granger attained her animagus form last July- she's a ruddy vixen. Not that that surprised me at all, once I found out. But anyway, she was bullying me to try for a form too."

"And?" Harry had a fair idea of where this was going, and he was glad, both because his friend had attained his animagus form and because he wouldn't have to hide _his_ anymore.

"Well, ok, um, just watch."

And Ron transformed.

Harry was rarely ever truly surprised, especially not in a good way. But sweet Merlin, Ron was a ruddy griffon, the second magical animagus since Merlin, Harry being the other. "Whoa," he commented when Ron had turned back. "You're definitely a Gryffindor."

Ron's face broke out into a smile. "I...um...I'm glad you like it. You're the first I've told."

"You didn't tell Granger?"

"I was trying to get it right before I finally showed her; didn't want to try to transform and end up with a beak for a face for a week or something like that. I honestly think she thought I was lying about the whole thing. But just imagine the look on her face if she knew!" his face went a little guilty at that. "I...sorry mate, I got carried away. Do you have a form?"

Harry grinned, rose, and changed, warping into a form with scales in all different colors and two pairs of wings.

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Holy Morgana's tits, you're a quetzalcoatl?!"

"Ophies Amphipterotoi, actually," Harry supplied. "Quetzalcoatls only have one set of wings."

Ron blinked several times. "Ok. Right. My friend is an _extinct magical creature_. What is it about my life?"

"You're friends with me?" Harry replied, lips twitching.

Ron just blinked again and picked up _10,000 Spells You Should Never Use_ , apparently deciding that he was not about to grace that with a reply. And, thus having had their break, they went on with their studying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything bolded is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I do not own it, nor do I claim to.

They found the time-travel ritual, _Facere Vita Iterum_ , on page 7345. The only good thing one might be able to say about it was that it didn't include either human sacrifice or human organs. Organs being the operative word there, because it indeed required human blood- five pints of it- for the runic circle and some of the things that you had to use for the accompanying potions (of which there were four) were indescribably disgusting. Such as the Mongolian Death Worm slobber and the camel snot. Honestly, who decided "I'm going to make a super complex potion for use in a ritual which is to turn back time- what do I use? Camel snot." To make it still more difficult, no two ingredients came from the same general area- the jotun hair had to come from Antarctica, the xolotl fur and thunderbird feathers had to come from the Americas, the kitsune fur and teeth had to come from Japan (along with the kappa liquid and ground kirin horn), the Andndayin-ōj scales, had to come from Armenia (Harry hadn't even known what the creature was), and on and on. Oh, and they had to learn old Gaelic. All told, it was complicated, expensive, and of the sort that the Ministry of Magic would probably consider dark with a capital 'D'. That didn't stop either Ron or Harry from trying, though.

The first thing they did was go to harvest the basilisk, which was surprisingly considerably easier than Harry would have guessed. Once Minerva Mcgonagall knew what they were planning (though not the whole thing, just the fact that they wanted to harvest the animal), she offered them access to the Chamber quite readily. They had to hire a team of human beast-harvesters, since the goblins were still angry at them, and it took thirty-six hours and another 3000 galleons, but the carcass more than paid for itself, yielding a tongue, more meat than anyone could do anything with, fangs, scales, skin, organ meat, and bones, as well as four gallons of basilisk venom, more than enough for the ritual (which was just as well, because had they had to buy it, they would have had to bribe someone for a permit or buy it on the black market for unseemly prices. Although it smelled appalling when it was being rendered.

Then they had to do all of the shopping, in between studying until midnight trying to learn old Gaelic from old musty books (translation spells weren't precise enough for ritualistic chants, and no one had ever been able to make a Romanized version of the druidic ritual, so they just had to roll with it). Just the shopping, though, took most of the next week, as Harry's suppliers in Knock Turn Alley had to procure a number of rare ingredients (Mongolian death worm slobber, phœnix eggshells, Stygian water, bonnacon earwax, and hen's teeth, as well as a genuine mummified monkey's paw.) Needless to say, Harry was not looking forward to drinking the potions. The ordinary Diagon Alley suppliers, moreover, such as Higgins Apothecary and Potion Supply Inc. had to send away for his more exotic orders. His vault supplied the ten flawless emeralds, and the Brazilian Batwing scales were a gift from Charlie Weasley, after Ron sent him a long distance owl message asking for one. They even had to mail order a thunderbird feather and three plumes from a winged serpent from the Americas using muggle post. The expense didn't matter. Because honestly, they weren't going to need any gold if they were to fail.

The potions took another month to brew; to be honest, they were worse than polyjuice, and that was saying something. One was very easy, but the second took an entire month and was harder than polyjuice, which is saying something, and the third potion was deceptively difficult- the two of them blew up more cauldrons than Neville Longbottom, and wasted hundreds of galleons in the process. The fourth seemed to work perfectly fine, but then would always be spoiled by the time it had cooled for the amount of time marked in the recipe book; they finally figured out that it was because it needed to have a cloth over it while cooling, to keep in residual heat for a little longer and not let any dust fall in, but by then they'd already tried it eleven times, and were getting so frustrated that Ron had at one point lost his temper and threw a slimy pickled hippogryph tongue at Harry's head, so that it caught him wetly on the cheek. The potions were harder still when one factored in Rose Weasley, who had to be shunted around to various relations, as Ron wanted her to be ok but couldn't bear looking at her, and Hermione (now Granger) who kept trying to break through the wards to "apologize" and then took to trying to drum up support in the media when Harry and Ron took out a warding order on her.

Still, they managed to get them done (though they belatedly realized that the first would not keep- it was a very good thing that it was the easiest of the three potions). Then all they had to do was perfect the pronunciation of the chant, draw the blood, and make the runic circle in a place they wouldn't be disturbed (which was harder than it sounded, since the goblins wouldn't let them rent a ritual chamber, and there was nowhere else they could think of that was large enough, warded enough, and safe enough to conduct such a ritual, except possibly in the Chamber of Secrets, and they didn't have a legitimate reason for going down there now that the basilisk was harvested). Oh, well, they'd think of something.

It turned out to be a good thing that Ron had a cursebreaker for a brother. When Bill Weasley heard the problem, he referred them to the Cursebreaker's Guild in France at once, and before long, they had a reservation to use a very nice private ritual chamber, no questions asked. Now all they had to do was memorize the runic circle and the chant, along with said chant's correct pronunciation.

They were nearing the time when everything would be ready for the ritual to take place, when Ron came into the living room where Harry was hunched over a Gaelic dictionary, carrying a _Daily Prophet_ and munching on a piece of toast.

"What is it?" asked Harry, annoyed, as he had been attempting to translate a passage of the ritual when his friend had interrupted him.

"Look at this," was Ron's entirely calm response as he held up the _Prophet_.

Harry blinked. "What, _Harry Potter Harvests the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets_?" It was kind of annoying that it was on the media already, but not really too much of a problem, and it was not as if they had really tried to keep it under wraps.

"No. _Hermione Granger-Weasley Sues her Husband for Child Custody_ ," Ron said, furiously angry.

"Oh, Sweet Merlin!"

Well, _that_ put a wrench in the works. The trial would be a week from that day; they would either have to postpone the ritual or miss the trial; even if they were to work twice as fast to try to get it ready, it doubtless wouldn't be prepared before the trial; there were simply too many variables and too many things to prepare. Harry looked at Ron. "What do you want to do? Do we wait, or...?"

"No," said Ron, hard as ice. "We're going before the trial. I never want to see that bitch again."

Harry couldn't quite sympathize, seeing as he had always been more forgiving (and besides, Ginny had been actually mentally ill, not cruel and focussed on material gain; Harry couldn't help but see her as the little girl who had accidentally stuck her elbow in the butter dish during his second summer before Hogwarts). All the same, he certainly didn't want to see the young woman either, not after what he had learned. He knew they were unlikely to be ready in time, but if they missed the trial, did that honestly matter? Everyone who be authorized to summon them to the court (by force, if necessary) would be cancelled out if the ritual worked, and if it didn't, they'd be dead.

The very next day, they wrote their goodbyes, in case it didn't work, left them with Luna to send should they not return in a month (she was the only one they felt they could truly trust who wouldn't ask questions; indeed, she seemed to already know and approve of what they were going to do). They flooed to France, checked in at the magical customs booth, and arranged for a muggle hotel (less of a paper trail that way). The day after that found them at their reserved ritual chamber, leaving their supplies- a pack full of blood replenishers, the potions necessary for the ritual, a dragon bone and yuki onna hair paintbrush to draw the ritual circle, a bowl and ritual dagger for the blood, and their notecards for the ritual, as well as twelve candles (four orange candles, for change, four black and white ones, for the past, and four green candles for healing) and various other things necessary- in the ritual antechamber and preparation room, as nothing was supposed to be in the actual room. Then they set up the circle in painstaking detail, each line and rune drawn in a mixture of phoenix ash and tears, Stygian water, and their own blood , as well as other things (all hideously expensive, but necessary). Harry was quite faint as they finished the last lines, added the last curls to the last runes. Then they set up each candle, alternating them so that there was not a single instance of two candles of the same color next to each other.

After that, they went back to the antechamber to prepare, bathing manually (cleansing spells would taint the ritual) and taking much the same mixture they had used on the floor of the ritual chamber (minus the blood and plus some crushed freshwater pearls, Tyrian purple dye (ie, crushed purple shellfish; lovely) and unicorn milk) on themselves, painting long columns of runes on each others backs and struggling to keep from letting their hands linger too long; this was not a ritual that would benefit from "love magic".

"This is not how I imagined being naked with you the first time would go," Ron admitted, the brush tickling the base of Harry's spine as the young man tried to draw a ridiculously complex rune. Harry just focussed on trying not to wriggle as the brush continued drawing lower down.

At last, however, they were ready. They donned loose ritual robes, the runes Jera and Dagaz, Thurisaz and Algiz, and so, so many others having dried on their skin, tingling with magic. They entered the ritual chamber barefoot, being incredibly careful not to smudge their painstaking runic circle- even so much as the slightest blurred rune or broken line could mean a literal tear in time, after all- and then they summoned the goblets of potion, ritual goblets which would vanish as soon as the potions were drunk but did not leave a residue of magic, being of rare carven yazhi ivory.

The first potion of the three they would have to take before the ritual did not taste so bad, rather of spices and rose petals, with a hint of overripe raspberries. The second was a thin mixture that Harry had to get down in two gulps, considering that it tasted like licorice mixed with lima beans and clung unpleasantly to the tongue, but the last- Harry would die happy if only he didn't have to let that absolutely appalling taste in his mouth ever again. The texture was of rich cream- not so bad- but camel dung is not a good flavor in general, especially when mixed with a rotting-lakeweed flavor that Harry knew had to do with kelpie snot. Right. Why was he doing this again?

Though they could not speak, for fear of messing up the ritual, they could emote, and Harry was not the only one spluttering and gagging. But they managed to get the whole goblet down at last, between them, and then the ritual began, the chalices vanishing in one and the same magicless pop.

They chanted for a full hour without stopping except to breathe, and barely even stumbling over the Old Gaelic words, considering how very long they had practiced and quizzed each other. The chanting rose in volume, though Harry's voice was starting to crack, and as the climax approached, the runes, pregnant with blood magic, glowed brightly as a _lumos maximus_ , except that they were glowing green.

And then, at last, the ritual was at its climax. They shouted the words of the incantation, calling for the favor of Time, Death, Fate, and the old gods, and stating their intent for making everything right and taking their revenge (this part had to be unique to each particular ritual, within certain parameters, and it had been a bitch to write) and tossing back the last potion, the one that would be the catalyst for the power that had been building in the ritual matrix and runic circle.

Eyes streaming, Harry doubled over as the potion scorched its way down his throat like over-aged firewhiskey. The world spun as though he'd taken a long-distance portkey...and, in a way, he had. Gold light blazed around them, sizzling with its heat and intensity, and Harry had just a moment to think _'I thought it was supposed to be orange?'_ before the world fell away beneath his feet and he knew nothing more. Neither he nor Ron noticed the silver ribbon which twined between them for the merest of instants before evaporating in the magical backlash.

* * *

Harry jolted awake, so fast that he cracked his head against the wall of his cupboard. Wait what? Oh Hell no! Harry slowly let his eyes adjust to the darkness with a sigh. From what little he could find about the spell, he'd expected it to send him back in time to his first year at Hogwarts, as he and Ron had agreed upon (so that they could meet and discuss their plans at once, and so that they could use their magic freely, since they already would have their wands. Instead he was back in his scrawny ten-year-old body, in a cupboard with Harry's Room scrawled on the wall with a bit of blue paint that he'd stolen from his first-grade home room in a napkin a few years ago in an attempt to brighten up his "room". From his now more mature perspective, the entire situation was disgusting, and he couldn't wait to get out- hell he didn't even own a wand yet! Well, this might be a problem... Harry huffed a long sigh, supposing that he'd just have to wait it out. For the record (as if there even _was_ a record) Harry was not at all pleased with having to wait to implement his plans, after all he had expended to go back in time, especially as he would be abused and neglected the entire time. Maybe he could get a headstart on his plans early, at least the ones that didn't require Ron's help?

Oh, Merlin, that was another thought. Had Ron actually come back with him? What if he had not, if his consciousness was just lost, in the vastness of time? Had the odd color of the magic changed the ritual more than just throwing them a little further back than he had expected? What if- Harry was snapped out of his worried contemplation with a vengeance, as Aunt Petunia rapped on the door.

**"Boy!"** Aunt Petunia's voice. He had certainly not missed _that_. He had had enough of her screeching voice to last him for the rest of his life, and more.

"Coming, Aunt Petunia!" He got to his feet with a muffled sigh, pulling on his socks. He didn't know exactly what day it was, as there wasn't exactly a calendar in his cupboard, but he had a pretty good guess. With his luck, it would be Dudders' birthday.

**His aunt was back outside the door.** " **Are you up yet?" she demanded.**

**"Nearly," said Harry** , flicking a spider gently off his shapeless grey sweater. Wasn't that the one that he'd actually named in his previous lifetime? Merlin, it seemed so long ago. What had he called it?

" **Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."**

Oh, splendid. The Harry Potter luck had struck again. This would probably be vastly interesting, but it definitely put a spanner in the works. He didn't know how much he should try to do the same as last time, so that the timeline wouldn't get too out of whack, but at the same time, he _definitely_ didn't want this day to end same as last time. Harry remembered this day quite vividly, and while it had been amusing to set a snake on Dudley, he didn't particularly want to live it over again. He was still trying to figure out how to get to Gringotts and begin enacting his plans. All the same, he knew better than to argue with Petunia.

Without more ado, he walked down to the kitchen to cook Dudders' breakfast. This time, however, he used small amounts of wandless magic to make the eggs go over easy and the bacon get perfectly crisp. He knew, having had to fill out auror paperwork, that wandless magic in a muggle household was logged as accidental magic until the child was eleven, as Wizarding children supposedly couldn't do it without training, and muggleborns obviously wouldn't get said training. He would likely fall through the cracks, too, seeing as he was the "Boy-Who-Lived". Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about the Ministry. Dumbledore was another thing altogether, considering that he probably had wards up that could detect the slightest little hint of Harry's magic, but he had never come over to check before, when Harry had nearly _died_ , so a little wandless spell to make the eggs cook perfectly probably wouldn't register. He hoped.

At last, the breakfast was ready. Harry filled three heaping plates, shoved a large piece of bacon in his mouth- he was _not_ going to starve this time- and carried said plates to the table. Vernon Dursley- Harry refused to think of the bastard as "uncle" any longer- was already there. " **Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.**

"Yes sir," Harry replied, biting off the words to keep from saying what he would have liked to. Then he returned to the kitchen before Vernon could find fault with anything else, wandlessly swiping a large and buttery piece of toast on the way and banishing it to the laundry room (the Dursleys never went in there if they could help it, unless it was Petunia washing the fancy clothes she didn't trust _him_ too, so it would be a good enough place to eat, even if it smelled like detergent. Better to be smelling detergent than mold.

After breakfast, Harry was dragged back out (thankfully after Harry had disposed of the damning evidence of his 'stolen' meal) and brought into the living room to 'celebrate', which meant to watch as Dudley unwrapped his presents: a motorbike, a gold watch, a new pair of boxing gloves, a VCR, new video games, and so on, keep his mouth shut, and listen to Petunia's simpering and Vernon's comments about how Dudley deserved all this, unlike _some_ boys he could name. Harry winced while the others were not watching, as he heard the ceaseless tearing of paper, and Dudley's whining about the fact that he'd only gotten thirty-seven presents, with Petunia's quick reassurance that her "Popkins" would get _two_ more presents while they were out. Had Dudley really been this much of a brat?

Evidently yes. Harry actually felt rather sorry for him, as the criminally spoiled boy had actually grown into a rather good man (after the dementor wake-up call, of course). Maybe he could hasten or facilitate that process this time around?

A little more unwrapping, then Aunt Petunia, who had gone to answer the phone, was slamming it down hard. "Mrs. Figg broke her leg. She can't take _him_." The intonation in which she indicated Harry was similar to that which she would have used for a puppy that had soiled the carpet, evidently because those two things were synonymous in her mind.

" **We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.**

" **Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy."**

Harry stifled a snicker as he remembered the events before his fourth year, then turned his attention back to the Dursleys, wondering how he could spin this. If he could get them to leave him here, he could make a break for it and apparate to Gringotts, to get started on his ideas and plans (or at least the ones that didn't involve Ron). If he couldn't...well...maybe he could let the snake go without causing the mess it had last time (maybe just banish him back to Brazil?) Vernon interrupted his thoughts with his usual crude insensitivity. (Although to be fair, Harry didn't think that the man _could_ be sensitive.

" **What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"**

" **On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.**

" **You could just leave me here,"** Harry commented, doing his best to sound hopeful.

Petunia's lips pursed up rather like a dog's anus. **"And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled.**

" **I won't blow up the house," said Harry,** (not that he didn't want to) **but they weren't listening.**

**"I suppose we could take him to the zoo," said Aunt Petunia slowly, "… and leave him in the car…**

**" That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone…"**

As if it was Harry's life-goal to ruin their precious car. Harry executed a perfect Snape sneer as Dudley began blubbering, pretending to be upset. Harry was not fazed by the performance, but Aunt Petunia immediately dropped everything.

**"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she cried, flinging her arms around him.**

" **I… don't… want… him… t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.**

At that moment, the doorbell jangled loudly- **"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically-** and she opened it for rat-faced Piers and his stylishly dressed, overweight mother. Mrs. Polkiss only stayed long enough to drop him off- Harry cynically wondered if she didn't want to be around him anymore than he did- and after a little fussing from Dudley, they were off.

So they were heading to the zoo in London, just like in the last timeline, only this time, when Vernon was ranting about "hooligans" on motorcycles, Harry didn't comment, only stifled a giggle at the thought of the look on Vernon's face were Sirius to show up on his flying motorcycle. Sirius. The thought drove the smile off his face. Sirius was still locked up in Azkaban, an alleged criminal, and no one was doing a thing about it.

That thought, in turn, brought others to the surface, less welcome still. What if he ended up getting Sirius killed in this timeline too? Worse still, what if Sirius had been complicit in James's plotting; after all, the two were said to be as close as brothers... The jolting of the car to a stop wrenched him out of his thoughts. He'd never been more grateful for Vernon's bad driving.

Once again, they strolled through the zoo, Harry hanging behind to keep out of the other boys' way- he might be savior of the Wizarding world, but he was malnourished and his core was not fully developed; he could ill afford to start something until he had his wand and could defend himself adequately.

They passed the same exhibits as before: giraffes chewing on leaves supplied by their keepers, tigers pacing their cages, dolphins leaping and twisting in their tank for scraps of fish, and kangaroos and wallabies and long-fingered aye-ayes...

Once again, Harry silently remarked on the extraordinary likeness that Dudley and a young male silverback gorilla shared, although the gorilla was not blond and looked more intelligent.

After a while, they passed the ice-cream stand, and the Dursleys bought Piers and Dudley chocolate ice-creams, and him a cheap ice-pop so that the woman at the counter wouldn't be suspicious. (The ploy didn't seem to work, as the woman still looked at them suspiciously, but then, Harry was wearing his cousins castoffs, despite the family begin well-off; if the Dursleys had wanted him to seem normal, they should have treated him normally. All the same, she didn't say anything, evidently figuring that it was none of her business, and so they went on.

Then they looked at some more animals Vernon declared it was lunch time, mostly because Piers and Dudley were harassing him and people were starting to notice. (Mustn't have people _noticing_ , God forbid. Harry gave the slightest of sneers at his 'family's' stupidity, and followed like the obedient little house elf that he was supposed to be.) After lunch, and before Harry was able to finish the remains of Dudley's second knickerbocker glory, Dudley dragged them all to the reptile house, babbling on about venomous cobras and thirty-foot man-eating anacondas.

The reptile house was dark and cool, and Harry's oversensitive ears could catch the rasp of scales against rock, see lizards basking in artificial sunlight on artificial branches, hear, from some of the meshed-over tanks, the susurrating whispers of serpentine gossip and prayers for escape.

Harry meandered about for a bit, pausing by a familiar tank. After a minute or so, Dudley and Vernon came up behind him, Dudley making his father rap on the glass for his amusement. The boa constrictor did the serpentine equivalent of an eye roll, and as soon as Dudley had moved on, whining about how boring it was, Harry asked her how she was, talking to her quietly until Piers turned around and ran back, yelling: **"DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"**

Dudley came waddling, shoving Harry to the side as he came. " **Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs.**

Harry congratulated himself on not siccing the snake on the two of them. Instead, he made it vanish silently, banishing it to Brazil- still enough to cause the boys to go berserk, but not enough for them to immediately sic the animal on him- and excused himself to go to the loo before the fireworks went off.

He did not actually, go to the loo, as halfway there, something occurred to him, something that he had to try. He was one of the few aurors who could cast his patronus wandless (it was supposed to not be possible, but there were several exceptions in the Auror Corps, however much the wizarding theoreticians squabbled over the supposed impossibility). Could he do that now?

He took cover behind the aviary (where small boys were _not_ supposed to go) and closed his eyes, summoning up the memory of the moment that he and Ron had been catapulted back into time, of the feel of the golden magic, of the feel of knowing that they had the whole world before them, to do it all over again. And he whispered " _Expecto patronum_."


	5. Chapter 5

Nothing happened. Harry frowned, staring at his hands. He should have expected that, really; his juvenile core was obviously not accustomed to casting the most powerful of DADA spells, even if he knew the incantation and theory. Or maybe he had not used a good enough memory? Damn, this was not good. How was he going to be able to contact Ron now?

"Expecto patronum!" he repeated with more force, conjuring up the feelings that had rushed through him in the moment of triumph in his first year, when he had caught his first snitch, the euphoria of actually being _good_ at something that wasn't fighting for his life, the freedom on his broom, the victory plucked from the jaws of despair. He _pushed_ , too, hard, knowing he could do it, knowing that he had the intent, knowing that if he just put enough effort into it, he could actually summon a patronus (though he certainly hoped that it wouldn't be a stag). He let the magic build up in his blood until he was unconsciously glowing, until the magic gleaming in his emerald eyes turned them white with power, and magic tore at the restraints inside him. Something seemed to snap within him, to give way all at once, and then suddenly silver light was bursting from his palms. And a silver grim burst from his wand in a dazzling shower of light and stood at attention.

Oh, dear Merlin, it looked like Sirius.

"G-go to the Burrow, or wherever Ron Weasley is, and tell him that the 'feathered snake' wishes to talk to him, as soon as possible," Harry said, voice trembling a bit. "Don't let anyone else see you. Ask him if he remembers, and tell him that I'm at the London zoo."

The grim nodded its silver head and bounded off, vanishing into the distance, and Harry, heart pounding, watched it disappear. Then, reluctantly, he turned back, edged his way out from behind the aviary, and returned to his family, waiting for a sign, any sign, that Ron was still cognizant of their future.

Uncle Vernon was _not_ happy that Harry had taken so long in the "loo". He looked as though he actually might have struck him right then and there, regardless of who was watching, had he not purportedly been a "good" and "normal" man. Dudley and Piers, seeing his hushed harsh whispers, looked quite ready go for a little "Harry hunting" right then and there. Harry closed his eyes and attempted to count to ten, so as not to see Vernon's purpling face, but just as he got to number eight, a very, very familiar voice rang out.

"Harry!"

Harry whipped around, eyes wide, and his "family" jumped, turning to see who had called "the Freak's" legal name.

It was Ron. Actually Ron, red hair, messy muggle clothes, and all. Harry caught his breath. He looked so young...

"Ron!" Harry shouted in return, running over to him, flinging his arms around him. For a moment he simply stood there, catching his breath, breathing in the scent of fresh grass and the cinnamon and baking supplies that had always permeated the Weasley household. Then he drew back, staring at him. "Merlin, you look so young."

"Same here, mate; I almost forgot about those horrible glasses of yours!"

Harry thumped him. "And I forgot about your absolutely appalling love of wearing Chudley Cannon orange, Ron."

Ron blushed hotly, and if they had both been a few years older and alone, Harry might actually have kissed him. As it was, he simply drew back, still staring. "How on _earth_ did you get here so quickly!"

"Funny story, that. I convinced dad that going to a muggle zoo would be educational, and then I managed to mildly _confound_ him to come here today."

"You're a genius!" Harry would not even have thought of that. "I assume you split off from them?"

"Oh, yeah, I asked Fred and George to run interference. Didn't explain why, y'know, but they don't mind being asked to cause mayhem."

"So, we're really early. What do you think we should do?"

"Go to Gringotts if you can slip your leash; we need to try to figure out assets and get the goblin cursebreakers to check us out before we make any more plans. My parents will probably go spare, but it'll be worth it."

"That...actually sounds like a good idea!"

"I _do_ have ideas sometimes. Merlin!"

Harry burst out laughing. He might even have said something in response, but at that moment, a hand fell on his shoulder, and his uncle Vernon said, in a voice that promised much future retribution, "We're moving on. Say goodbye to your little friend now, boy."

Harry hesitated, then jerked out of his grip. "Nothing doing, Uncle."

" _What_ did you just say to me?" Vernon's face was beginning to turn a rather interesting shade of plum purple.

"He said no," Ron said, looking rather as though he were about to lose his temper himself. "And anyway, he's coming with me." He paused. "One would think you'd be glad to be rid of him, for all you care. Come on, Harry,"

"You nasty little brat." A crowd was beginning to gather, as if two boys facing off with an obese older man were more interesting to watch than the gibbons brachiating nearby in the monkey house. Vernon had the tender sensibilities of king gorilla just before a rampage... "what the hell do you think you're doing, trying to run away?"

"No, _Uncle_ ," Harry said, putting emphasis on the second word. "I'm leaving. No _trying_ involved."

"Consider yourself lucky that he hasn't called the constables," Ron added, eyes narrowed.

Vernon looked as though he was going to have an aneurysm. "What?!"

"Four words for you: cupboard under the stairs," Ron said cooly, taking hold of Harry's arm. "Goodbye." And then, with a _confundus_ , a few mass _obliviates_ and a notice-me-not spell later (using a traceless family wand that Ron had swiped, seeing as Harry did not yet have one of his own), they had left the London zoo entirely.

As soon as they had left, however, both of them became painfully aware that he didn't actually know where in London the Leaky Cauldron was from their location, as they had always either flooed or been taken by adults in the last timeline, but Harry could certainly not return to the Dursleys after that little stunt that they had pulled (even had he wanted to), and Ron would likely not have another chance to get out of the house before they had to shop for their wands once his parents realized that he had sneaked away, because Molly would likely ground him. Neither did the two of them have any muggle money or passable ID. Ok, maybe they had pulled another boneheaded move. Harry didn't mind, though, as long as they weren't caught and Harry didn't have to return to his "dearest" relatives ever again.

They actually spent almost three hours wandering about London, getting distracted by the sights, before Ron finally remembered that they were wizards and could just cast a point-me charm with the borrowed wand. And so at last they spotted the dingy pub, shimmering in and out of view between a restaurant and a jewelry store.

Harry pulled his hat down to hide his scar and strolled through the doors, Ron calm and unruffled by his side, neither of them much bothered by the fact that ten-year olds usually didn't come to the Leaky by themselves. But then, in the wizarding world, you never actually knew if a child was really a child, at that, so it was not too unusual. Several pub-goers looked up at his entrance, but Harry kept his head down and walked straight to the counter followed by Ron, neither of them particularly wanting undue attention.

"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked, taking the lead.

Tom looked up. "Here for Diagon, I assume?"

Harry nodded gratefully, and Tom put down a cloth he'd been using to clean up an ale spill. "Right this way," he said, leading Harry and his redheaded companion to the courtyard behind the Cauldron. Then he drew his wand and tapped the bricks in the correct sequence, explaining about the entrance to Diagon Alley as he did so. Harry thanked him tersely, too excited to listen to an explanation he'd heard thousands of times before, and almost tripped as he half-ran through the archway, dragging Ron behind him.

It was even more spectacular than Harry remembered. It had been rebuilt after the second war, of course, but after the resurrection of Voldemort, there had always been a hint of apprehension in the air that however Voldemort had come back before, he could always come back again. Then, too, some of the shops such as Twillfit and Tattings had been badly damaged or even leveled, and the Ministry reparations were not enough to cover everything a second time. And of course most of the shops had lost owners, cashiers, managers, and so on.

In this time, however, the Alley had been mostly rebuilt, and the post-war jubilation had not yet worn off. The streets were full of chattering people, and like the first time he had been here, he wished he had eight independently-moving eyes. But he had to get to Gringotts before anything else.

Gringotts was just as he remembered it, too, tall marble columns and grinning goblin guards wielding pole-axes, with the inscription against theft carved over the great mahogany doors. Both of them (having had to do their fair share of groveling to the Gringotts goblins in their time, just to ensure that they didn't start another goblin rebellion) inclined their heads out of habit to the guards as he entered, not noticing the looks of surprise and the confused glances that the goblins shot each other, wondering why they were both so respectful. Harry, however, was too lost in his memories to notice; he was thinking about all the work he had had to put into getting the goblins to be marginally tolerant towards them. After the break in at Gringotts, both of them had had to learn gobbledygook and goblin etiquette fluently, as well as pay plenty of fines, to get the Gringotts clan to drop charges. They'd apparently been very impressed that he'd pulled it off, but as they had managed to mess over their bank, freed one of their dragons, and imperiused a guard, they had also been very pissed off. They'd told him, in fact, that anyone else would have found himself in a blood feud with the clan of Gringotts so fast his head would spin.

The two of them had soon gotten into one of the lines, and Harry lazily scanned the room for anyone he knew. There was no one, besides Ron, of course. No one, that is, except for the teller in his own line. Griphook.

The line crawled along like an Asian centipede, but at last, the two of them reached Griphook's desk. Harry smiled without teeth, then nodded to the goblin in the older, formal traditions. Then he, once again taking the lead, greeted Griphook in flawless gobbledygook.

"Well met, teller Griphook; may your vaults be without number and your enemies without escape. I ask to speak to Sculdig, account manager of House Potter."

Griphook's pupils dilated discernibly, and the wizards behind Harry in line stared at both of them. Then Griphook returned the nod. "Well met, scion of House Potter, may your treasures be innumerable and your force inexorable. I will take you to Sculdig." Then he waved over one of the other tellers to take over where he left off, and led Harry deep into the bowels of Gringotts.

Sculdig's private office was rather plain, marked only by a silver plaque etched with his name on the door, and aside from unornamented furniture, the only furnishings within were several well-made tapestries. An older goblin who Harry recognized from the last timeline was sitting behind the desk, and Griphook rapidly explained everything to him in gobbledygook. Sculdig stared at both of them. Then he started smiling toothily. "Scion of House Potter, why do you wish to speak to me?"

Harry blinked, while Ron shifted awkwardly beside him. "We wish to have our heritage tests done, and I would like to speak to a goblin healer and possibly a cursebreaker at once. As neither of us know our assets, I guess we'll have to go from there."

"I have sent you statements for a long time, care of your magical guardian Albus Dumbledore. They should have been forwarded to you at the age of seven. Do you mean to say you have never received them?" Sculdig sounded affronted. "And why would you want to visit a goblin healer, rather than...one of your own kind?"

"I have never received any mail at all, much less bank statements, which leads me to believe that there is a mail ward on me or my place of residence." Actually, Harry knew that there was a mail ward, and not just that, either, but he would have no legitimate way to explain how he knew that, and he already sounded way too adult. Although to be fair, he _was_ an adult, just stuck in a young body. Not that he could have explained _that_ , either.

Sculdig was looking angrier and angrier. "That is illegal! And..." he sounded almost hesitant, "What of the healer?"

Harry decided just to go for it. "I have never had proper treatment for malnutrition and abuse. In addition, I would like to get my eyes fixed. I also believe that I have several magical blocks on my core, and my scar is..." He tore a corner of a bit of spare parchment, to write 'a horcrux'. Goblin law forbade the word to be spoken out loud.

Sculdig read the parchment and blanched. " _WHAT?!_ " he roared when he could speak. "Malnutrition? Abuse?! _That_ type of magic?! Who have you been living with?"

"My mother's sister," Harry responded. "Oh, while I'm here, could I possibly have access to my mother's will?"

"Her will was sealed by Albus Dumbledore ten years ago; however, as primary beneficiary and blood relation, a copy can be provided for you," responded Sculdig mechanically, still in shock that a ten year old manchild should come to the goblins speaking fluent gobbledygook, and with such problems. Ron, meanwhile, choking in fury at the old man's blatant manipulation.

"Good. So...um...what should be done first?"

"I will send for a healer," replied Sculdig, and sent Griphook off to fetch a goblin called Murdock.

In a few minutes, a surprisingly young female goblin bustled in. Harry had never actually seen a female goblin, and thought she was rather aesthetically pretty (sharp teeth aside) but he quickly looked away before he could be caught staring.

"What seems to be the matter?" she asked.

Sculdig grimly told her what Harry had told him, and her face darkened with every word. Then she snapped her long fingers, casting a goblin diagnostic, and gasped.

"Well?" Asked Sculdig.

"Multiple poorly-healed broken bones, a ruptured spinal disc numbed by internal magics, bad malnutrition, scarring, an infected wound, an infected spleen, and scarred internal organs. And- oh good Thorbald!"

"What?" asked the Potter account manager, rather shakily. Ron had leaned against the wall, very pale and looking as sick as Harry felt.

"He has five magical blocks, one of which is on his healing magic. He's lucky to be alive."

Sculdig looked horrified, and Harry was little better, as he was wondering how on earth had he survived the last time. "Five?" he echoed at length, unable to believe it. Surely even Dumbledore couldn't have condoned that kind of abuse!

"Ye-yes." Murdock responded. "One on natural healing magic, one on any ability you might have for mind magics,"

Harry choked as he remembered the brutal occlumency lessons and realized that Dumbledore had never had any intention of teaching him to close his mind to Voldemort.

"-One block on accidental magic, specifically of the wish variety, one on quasi-metamorphmagus and self-transfigurative abilities, and the last on your core." She frowned, thinking. "And I'm getting a very dark reading on your aura, but you yourself aren't dark. I- oh good, gracious Thorbald! I can't believe it! You really are a soul ves..." she trailed off, unable to bring herself to say even the euphemism for horcrux. "I've never seen anything like it! And you've never had treatment?"

"My guardians took me to a muggle hospital for a broken arm once," Harry responded, remembering that day. Dudley had broken his arm on the playground in preschool, and Mrs. Donahue had happened to have been walking by. She'd called the Dursleys to a parent-teacher conference and kicked up a fuss, and the Dursleys took him to the hospital so as not to seem uncaring. Mrs. Donahue had been fired by her boss, who played golf with Vernon Dursley on weekends, shortly after, and Harry had been locked in his cupboard for a week.

Ron slammed his fist into the wall, starting the goblins, who had seemed, until that moment, not to have even noticed that he was there. "No good son of a bitch! How dare he leave you there, the smarmy old goat, letting you be abused while he had both fists in your vaults! And those muggles!"

Harry had to take him by the shoulder to make him calm down even the slightest bit, and meanwhile, Murdock appeared to be just as scandalized as Ron, though she was more professional about it. "You'll need a month's regimen of potions, and you're very lucky you came to me before it got worse. I can fix your eyes right now, if you like, with medical transfiguration. Your magical blocks will need to be taken off during the course of a week, and I ought to warn you, your magic will be very hard to control for a while. As for the...you-know-what, there are rituals to remove one from an object, but it will take a great number of arithmetical equations before I can be sure they will be safe to use on you."

"And the cost?" Harry was almost afraid to ask.

"I..." Murdock looked at Sculdig, "If you will only let me experiment on your scar, I will waive the cost. An opportunity like this...it's once in a lifetime."

Harry stared at her. "Um, of course."

Meanwhile, Sculdig was still staring at both Harry and Ron, looking, if possible, even more furious than the healer. "What was this about stealing from his vaults?"

"Um, we think that maybe Albus Dumbledore is abusing his control over Harry's fortune," Ron said, sheepishly, freckles entirely gone with the flush that had covered his face and was now creeping down his neck. His hand was still bleeding, as it was against goblin law to draw one's wand without permission in the bank.

Sculdig ground his teeth. "I assure that I will look into this at once," he said, seemingly incandescent with rage.

"I will heal the child first, however," Murdock broke in. "The gold can wait for when the boy is not so injured." She smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this," she continued, shaking her head. "I'm just glad I can help. Will you be pressing charges?"

"Maybe." Harry's plans hadn't fully percolated, as some of them would depend on the goblins, but he was definitely going to make their lives hard one way or another. "I might not have to- the Wizarding world will go spare when they find out how they've treated 'The Savior of the Wizarding World'."

Sculdig chuckled. "You could almost be a goblin yourself."

Murdock had been busy casting diagnostics from different angles. Now she straightened up. "If you like, I can fix your eyesight now,"

Harry grinned. "Absolutely!"

"I have to warn you that it'll hurt badly," Murdock told him. "It won't be for long though."

It couldn't be worse than a _cruciatus_. Harry nodded. "Ok, when you're ready." That was when he looked up and saw both goblins staring at him and Ron facepalming, and realized that he'd spoken the first part out loud.

"When have you been exposed to the _cruciatus_?" Sculdig asked suspiciously.

"I...well..." Harry glanced at all three of them. "May I have an honor vow to be discrete? Not because I doubt you," he added hastily, "but so that no one can force it out of you."

The goblins glanced at each other and then at him. "On the Phlegethon I swear," said Sculdig at last, echoed by the others, "not to share the next thing Harry Potter shares with us except to my king or on Potter's permission."

Harry stared at them, not believing it. Goblins had given him, a wizard, a binding honor vow. He was touched by their sincerity, and Ron looked as though he had been totally disconnected from all coherent thought, gaping at the three goblins. "We are time travelers," Harry told them finally, snapping out of it. "It was my fourth year, during a duel."

Utter silence. Ron actually cringed a little, with a muttered "way to break it to them, mate." And then at last Sculdig burst out laughing.

"You are a truly remarkable human. You do know that time travel is only outlawed under Wizarding law? I could...perhaps...fix a few documents for you..."

Harry had never actually known any wizard who had helped him so much in his lifetime, and said so. Sculdig was pragmatic. "Well, the Potters are extraordinary customers. I would be a fool not to help."

Harry grinned. "So now maybe about my eyes?"

Murdock immobilized him with a flick of her wrist, and made a few odd gestures. Harry's eyes exploded into pain, and when at last he blinked away the tears..."I can see!" Harry gazed around the room, grinning widely as he picked out each suddenly-sharp detail, and Murdock healed Ron with a quick fingersnap while Harry was still coming to terms with the fact that he could actually see. He goblins smiled at his jubilation, and Ron, now that there were no curious muggles around them, put his arm around Harry while he stood there blinking and relishing his new, crystal clear vision.

"Most of the other healing will have to wait until I make the right potions," Murdock continued after Harry had finished gushing happily and Ron had finally let go of him. "Although I can heal the infected scrape on your knee right now." She did so at once. "I will probably have to collaborate with a cursebreaker about the soul vessel ritual, and you will need to have a lot of bed rest and some specialized foods before I'll even _think_ about taking off those blocks. In the meantime, do you have any more business with Sculdig?"

"Yeah," Harry glanced over at the older goblin. "I wanted to do an inheritance test for both of us first thing."

Sculdig nodded. "I believe that you said as much." He removed an enchanted roll of parchment, an engraved bowl, and a silver knife etched with runes from his desk, and set them on top of it, waiting to be used. "You will both just need to cut your hand and let some of the blood fall on the parchment. It will then show you what lines you can claim and what claim you have to them. Who wishes to go first?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and when Harry didn't seem inclined to volunteer himself, Ron said: "Mate, you should go."

Harry hesitated, then nodded and held his hand over the bowl, cutting it and letting it drip. After a few seconds, Murdock healed his hand. Then Harry poured the blood in a thin, continuous line onto the parchment, where it glistened wetly for a minute and then soaked in. And then words began tracing themselves on the parchment.

_Ancient and Noble House Potter- second heir by right of blood through James Potter_

_Most Ancient and Most Noble House Peverell- heir by blood and magic through Velika Peverall by way of James Potter, heir apparent by right of conquest by the defeat of Tom Riddle, through Asha Peverall by way of Merope Gaunt_

_Ancient and Noble House Gryffindor- heir apparent by right of blood through Lorelei Gryffindor by way of James Potter_

_Ancient and Noble House Black- heir by right of blood and magic through Dorea Black by way of James Potter, heir by right of marriage_

_Most Ancient and Most Noble House Gaunt- heir apparent by right of conquest by the defeat of Tom Riddle heir through Merope Gaunt_

_Ancient and Noble House Slytherin- heir apparent by right of conquest by the defeat of Tom Riddle, heir through Jocasta Slytherin by way of Merope Gaunt_

_Most Ancient and Most Noble House Merlin- heir apparent by right of blood through Zelda Merlin by way of Lily Evans_

_Minor Noble House Reims- heir apparent by right of blood through Melissa Reims by way of Lily Evans_

_Noble House Starveling- heir apparent by right of blood through Calpurnia Starveling by way of Lily Evans_

_Ancient and Noble House Mordrake- heir apparent by right of blood through Elizabeth Mordrake by way of Lily Evans_

_Minor Noble House Jones- heir by right of blood through Diana Jones by way of James Potter_

_Noble House Boniface- heir apparent by right of blood through Cara Boniface by way of Lily Evans_

_Noble House Angeles- heir apparent by right of blood through Camomile Angeles by way of Lily Evans_

_Minor Noble House Anaheim- second heir by right of blood through Sarah Anaheim by way of Lily Evans_

_Minor Noble House Weasley- tenth heir by right of marriage_

_Ancient and Noble House Prewitt- sixth heir by right of marriage_

_Minor House Glams- twelfth heir by right of marriage_

Harry was staring at the parchment open-mouthed. "Not possible," he whispered, while Ron, reading the list from over his shoulder, was only just closing his gaping mouth.

"Oh, it's quite possible," returned Sculdig from where he had been looking over Harry's shoulder. "As your mother appears to have been heir to Merlin, she would doubtless be related to many minor Noble Houses. Every time the all the immediate members of one of these Houses die out, the house reverted back to her. You will have a great deal of sway on the Wizengamot when you are of age. As a matter of fact, I could probably get you emancipated now, by using old Pureblood laws." He blinked, then started, staring at the list. "Now that, though, is unexpected. The two of you are soul-bonded?"

"Th-that's," said Harry shakily, unable to believe the curls of ink on the paper. "And...and since when are we soul-bonded?" He frowned. "Oh, but I was married to Ginevra Weasley in the old timeline. Maybe that's where that comes from?"

"Hardly, mate," Ron replied, voice shaking. "That was just a regular wizarding marriage. That wouldn't be valid now. I think...I think maybe it was the ritual. It didn't act quite right, remember? I think it's _us_."

Harry fainted and had to be revived by Murdock.

"So...even if we were soul-bonded," Harry said hesitantly when he was able to be coherent again, "since when is Mum...I mean, I thought she was a muggleborn. How-?"

Sculdig snorted. "Magic has to come from somewhere. True muggleborns are astronomically low. However, wizards have a nasty little habit of turning out their squibs and not bothering to disinherit them, as squibs cannot inherit anyway. So then a few generations down the line, a 'muggleborn' pops up. I always wondered why so-called muggleborns didn't even try to test for an inheritance."

"I don't think they know it's an option," Ron responded, since Harry was still too busy staring at the paper. The shock hadn't seemed to have hit the redhead yet.

"You could be right." Sculdig sighed. "It's just a waste. All those unclaimed vaults..."

Harry was thinking of all the lives that could be improved; well, that and how in Merlin's name were he and his best friend turned to maybe-lover _married_. Oh well, the issue about the muggleborns was just another thing to accomplish after Voldie was dead. Evidently they had (or would have) a lot of political power, and probably a lot of gold, and the Marauder in him couldn't think of any better way to spend it than on a revolution. The other thing...well, he was going to just stop thinking about that right now; he really needed to focus. And then something else occurred to him, and he laughed at the sheer irony it would be. "Hypothetically, if someone forced the heir apparent of Merlin into marriage by use of the 'Pleasure law', could it be brought up in court as line theft, being as the 'Pleasure law' only applies to muggleborns?"

Ron gasped sharply, and Sculdig nodded.

"And if the same someone were to willfully endanger said heir apparent and her child?"

"You could get them shoved through the veil at the very least. Why? I'm assuming it's _not_ hypothetical?"

"That's what my father did to my mum. As soon as the war is over, so help me he's going to pay."

"As soon as the war is over, especially if you help win it, I will convince my lord Director Ragnok to help you shaft every one of your enemies," Sculdig promised with a wicked grin. "Now, about your companion's inheritance test?"

Ron grinned lightly, blue eyes sparkling. "Pass it over, please!"


	6. Chapter 6

Ron's parchment, however, yielded no more surprises, except that wherever Harry's parchment read "heir apparent", his read "consort", much to his amusement and annoyance. Harry was still very much in shock, however, and Sculdig had to give him the goblin equivalent of a calming draught before he was calm and alert enough to actually function.

"So what next?"

Harry looked up at Ron's question. "I...don't really know. What did you have planned?"

"Well, I have to take a look at my parents wills sooner or later, and then we have to figure out exactly how much gold we have to implement our plans. After that, I guess we see if there's a property in reasonably good repair to make a base out of? We'll also need to figure out how to spin your return to the Wizarding world. Dumbledore's going to smell a rat if you just pop up acting like a perfect pureblood heir, you know..."

"I don't like the idea of having to act like the perfect Gryffindor Golden Boy for the next six years, or however long it takes to plan our attack on the light and dark lords, either. And what about you? Your family's probably already realized something's up; how are you going to be able to pretend to be the perfect Weasley for the next few years?"

Ron frowned. "I don't know. I _do_ think that staying with the family would make our plans a hundred times easier, but at the same time, I think I'd go mad trying to remember things that the old me would not have any problem remembering. Maybe I could have the twins fake an 'experiment gone wrong' and wipe my memory? Besides, there'll probably be times that you'll need the kind of assistance that a wizard with a highly protective wizarding family can't easily give you. I wish I could do both..."

"If I might make a suggestion-"

Both boys whirled around to see Sculdig, who had been watching them in silence for the last few minutes. "Sorry. What did you have in mind, sir?"

"I believe, considering that you made it safely back in time thus far, that you can be trusted with timeturners?"

Open mouths and a complete silence were his only answer for about a minute and a half. Then Ron asked: "Yes, why?"

"You could form an alternative identity, with the proper papers. By judicious use of polyjuice and said time-turner, you could act the beloved son to your family while also being your own wizard; with luck, you could try to minimize contact."

Ron's eyes went wide. "You mean that I really could do both? Is that legal?"

"Not as such, but there _are_ loopholes, and we at Gringotts Bank pride ourselves on knowing our loopholes inside and out. I could draw up papers and insure that no one would ever know about them unless you needed documentation, and with your magical marriage to an heir of multiple Ancient and Noble Houses, you could change your name to any of the main or even tributary heirships that you now share with him. He can even straight out _give_ you a title, if he so desires."

This time both wizards stared.

"What do you think, Ron?"

Ron gulped. For as long as he could remember, he had dreamed of grandeur such as could be obtained by a powerful pureblood name. Oh, to be sure, he was happy being Harry's friend, then his lover. He actually didn't even care, at least most of the time, since he valued the man's friendship much more than he valued his own pride. But it was hard, sometimes. He was the slowest and (according to popular schoolwide gossip while he had been at Hogwarts) the stupidest, and he was the only one who had never gotten ahead on his own merits. When they spoke of him, they typically spoke of him in the same breath as Hermione Granger, and, of course, Harry Potter. He was never important in his own merits, or even Ron, since he was always overshadowed, for good or ill. Harry Potter's best friend. William Weasley's youngest brother. One of Ginevra Potter's (many) older brothers. It was selfish, he knew that, but when he had stood in front of the Mirror of Erised in his first year, he had seen himself as Head Boy and Quidditch captain, Hogwarts' shining star, and he knew perfectly well that, while such childish wishes were no longer on his radar, his dream would likely involve himself as Minister of Magic and Harry openly acknowledging him as his husband before all of the Wizarding World. Ambition and pride had always been his private fatal flaws; the twins even liked to say that since he wasn't loyal enough for Hufflepuff and wasn't stuffy enough for Ravenclaw, he'd probably have made Slytherin if he wasn't so damn headstrong. The idea of being able to carry an ancient name, perhaps even a Noble and Ancient name... "I...would love to have a noble name, if you're ok with that," he managed. "And I'm not really that fond of 'Weasley' right now."

Harry blinked, and blinked again, reading between the lines. Ron had a moment to worry, to panic, to wonder if he was going too far, and then Harry grinned. "Sure! Which lordships would you like?"

"L-lordships?" was all Ron was able to say.

"Yes, lordships, Ron, I have far more than I will ever need for anything except screwing over Fudge and Dumbledore, and I'm pretty sure that you'd be willing to work together with me on that one. Besides, you're my husband, weird as that sounds when we're both technically eleven. You should share the lordships with me. Besides, I honestly don't think I like the idea of you being a kept man; you should have your own Ancient and Noble vaults."

Ron blinked a few times and then had to sit down to steady himself so that he wouldn't faint, considering that the shock of both the marriage and what Harry had just said was quickly catching up to him. "Ancient and N-Noble?"

"Did you get splashed with a Parroting Potion?" Harry, damn him, looked as if he was actually having fun. "Yes Ron."

"Any title?"

"Well, I can't see you pulling off Lord Slytherin, but you could if you want... I'm thinking of giving you Gryffindor, Mordrake, and Merlin, and some of the minor houses if I get to keep Slytherin, Gaunt, and Peverall..."

Ron actually _did_ faint this time, and the goblins snickered in the background.

* * *

After the redhead had been revived, Harry asked exactly _how_ one was supposed to hand over a title. Sculdig smirked.

"If you _weren't_ married, you would have to do a very long and convoluted ritual involving magical vows, blood magic, and a strict potion regimen. As it is, you just have to prick his finger to add a drop of your blood to his to ensure that he can access any blood-warded belongings, literally swear that you are giving him and any descendants the title in perpetuity, and sign some official ministry documentation, which we can probably bury for your convenience. Of course, Mr. Potter has to actually take up his lordships before he has authority to give any to you..."

"How would I do _that_?" asked Harry, who was beginning to realize, in dismay, that he had quite a lot to read about Wizarding tradition and culture.

It was Ron who answered him. "I think Bill said that you just have to claim your ring, and if you can put it on it has accepted you, right?"

"Indeed," was Sculdig's reply. "If your inheritance paper says 'heir apparent', you just have to see if the House Ring accepts you. If it doesn't, you're not ready, but I hardly see that happening."

"Will it hurt me if it doesn't accept me?" asked Harry worriedly.

"Not unless you're a false claimant. Shall I send for the rings?"

"Yes please," Harry replied. Sculdig called in a young goblin called Logjam and told him to get the rings while Harry squirmed impatiently. At last, Logjam came back with a box full of rings. Most Ancient and Most Noble House Merlin (a sapphire and amethyst thunderbolt) Ancient and Noble House Slytherin (four intertwining emerald snakes) Most Ancient and Most Noble House Gaunt (a black dragon of obsidian) Ancient and Noble House Gryffindor (a golden lion with red eyes) Most Ancient and Most Noble House Peverall (the symbol of the Hallows) Noble House Grey (a single pearl) Noble House Angeles (a pair of silver wings) Noble House Boniface (a golden rose) Noble House Starvling (a silver starling) Noble House Reims (a golden weasel) and Ancient and Noble House Mordrake (a pair of dragons grappling).

Harry stared at the box. Then, slowly, he reached for the first ring, which happened to be the ring for House Mordrake. He picked it up hesitantly; it was cold and aching with Old Magic in his palm. He looked at it for a few moments, then at length slid it on. It was too large, large enough for the thumb of his little hand, but when it had seemed to acclimate to his hand, it glowed a bright red, which slowly paled to white. He had a momentary vision of soaring on dragonback in a sky as blue as sapphire, and then the ring resized to his hand. Ron began to clap.

"One down, Harry!"

Harry blinked, then slowly (but with more confidence) slid the second ring (Merlin's ring) on his opposite ring finger. This time, he felt a heady sensation as if he had drank too much firewhiskey at a gulp and the sensation of power settling in his veins, so much power. The ring resized, and Harry had to steady himself by gripping Sculdig's desk before he could continue. Gaunt's ring gave him a warning sting that he sensed would have been something much more severe if he was not actually eligible for the lordship, Slytherin's felt cool and seductive and a little slimy with Dark Arts, Gryffindor tested him with an agonizing rush of pain before accepting him, and Peverall felt...wrong, almost, like death. The minor houses, however, only flashed and resized, seeming not to have all of the same defences on them that the older rings did.

An hour later, Sculdig was smiling at the dumbfounded wizard, and explaining the rules governing House Rings. "Only you can take off the rings, and they can be banished to, I suppose you could say, magical space until you need them. All you have to do then is simply think which one or ones that you want to see. The Ancient and Noble Houses allow you a seat on the Wizengamot; the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses allow you 2. Thus you have 9 seats- quite the voting block! As you are the last available heir for Houses Merlin and Mordrake, you can file for emancipation. You will, of course, need to learn Wizarding politics; I can't profess to be able to help with that."

Harry had simply been trying to soak in all that Sculdig was telling him. Now he was finally realizing something else.

"Manager Sculdig?"

"Yes?"

"If I were to change my name, would it be magically binding in every way?"

"Yes," replied Sculdig.

"And would tracking charms meant for Harry Potter find me?"

"Only blood trackers, which are horribly inaccurate. So you want to change your name?"

Harry had often thought of changing his name just to spite James. Now he actually had a legitimate reason! "Can that be arranged?"

"Yes. I can also bury the paperwork so that the Wizarding world will not be able to find out." Sculdig's grin went positively feral. "You can use a muggle surname, as well as any one of the Wizarding names you have claim to. I suggest one of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Houses, perhaps Peverall, since you wanted to keep that one."

"Hmm." Harry thought for a moment. He was definitely going to use the name Aurelius, because of Marcus Aurelius (he had read _The Meditations_ , not being a _total_ uneducated barbarian) and he decided he would probably pick Sirius as a middle name. And, what with Snape's final memories, and with what Snape had done for him (despite being a total bastard about it) he might just pick Severus. (That would have the added effect of pissing off James, too, which was probably more the deciding factor.) "Gaunt." he said at length.

"Pardon?" Sculdig blinked. Ron, who looked as though he were about to suggest something, closed his mouth again.

"Aurelius Sirius Severus Gaunt," Harry told him.

Sculdig frowned. "Granted, Gaunt is a powerful name, but it's also Dark. May I ask why you would choose it?"

"To piss Voldemort off," the newly-christened Aurelius responded, grinning. "He thought he was heir to House Gaunt."

Sculdig gave a startled laugh, as did Ron. "You are truly a remarkable human." He sent Logjam for paperwork to confirm the name, and Griphook for a blood quill, and called up a handful of discrete goblin witnesses, and soon Aurelius was signing the documents, as the last heir of an Ancient and Noble House could sign contracts without his guardian after age seven, as the family magics would protect him or her from harm. Then the goblins put a copy in their archives, and sent another copy, this one sealed, to the ministry.

Then Sculdig summoned more paperwork, and with only a few goblins for witnesses, Lord Aurelius Gaunt passed over the lordships Angeles, Boniface, Gryffindor, Mordrake and Merlin, over Ron's half-hearted protests. Then, after even _more_ deliberation, Ron got valid paperwork for Halcyon Boniface-Gryffindor, a perfect pureblood name that would pretty much ensure that he would be seen as light with a capitol "L", unless he did something extremely drastic. It would likely take a few more weeks for the paperwork to go through, and they would have to go buy a (highly expensive) permanent polyjuice ring or something, so that Ron could disguise himself without worrying that a good 'finite' could rupture his disguise, but they had the beginnings for a quite good alter ego. It was decided, however, that only Ron would need to live both as himself and as another wizard, since Harry Potter's "disappearance" would actually help them, seeing as Dumbledore would then have to set his pets to looking for the lost boy. Faking Ron's disappearance (or somehow faking a concussion) would however be more trouble to make work than even their their elaborate plot.

"Is there anything else, _Aurelius_?" Sculdig was almost teasing.

"Well, if I'm Aurelius Gaunt now, then Harry Potter has to disappear," said Aurelius with a devious smile. "And what better way to do that than for him to die? If we're lucky, we can implicate the Dursleys and kill two basilisks with one sword?"

Sculdig was almost wriggling in glee. "That can be arranged. You will need a disguise, however, just as young Lord Gryffindor will need one."

"Honestly, me without my scar would be disguise enough," Aurelius replied, even as Ron flushed a vibrant red at being spoken of as 'Lord Gryffindor'. "But you're right, anyone who knew my parents could probably recognize me. Hmm. What do you suggest?"

"I was rather hoping you would ask that." Sculdig rummaged in his desk drawer. "There will be a cost, I'm afraid, but even a muggleborn could afford it." After a moment, he pulled out a plain-looking muggle-made watch. "This is a glamourie wristband- we normally use them when disguised as humans to work in muggle banks. It can be set to any appearance. Do you have any preference?"

"Yeah; I'd like to look, well, like Lord Peverell ought to look. A little mysterious, a little creepy, etc. Silver hair, maybe, or black with a silver streak, and black or violet eyes."

"I'll have someone set the charm," Sculdig told him, scrawling a few notes on a bit of parchment and sending it and the watch off with Logjam. "What else?"

"Lord Gryffindor over here probably needs a glamorie bracelet or ring or something, too," Aurelius said, smirking as Ron went red again and stuttered "Mate, you don't have to."

"I kinda do if you want to have a reliable disguise."

"I can cast a glamor!"

"Yeah, and what if Dumb-as-a-Dore- excuse me, Manager Sculdig- casts a finite on you, or you end up unconscious in the hospital wing? That glamor has to stay up at all times."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Ron was a bit reluctant, but at last detailed what he wanted for a disguise: short-cropped wavy blond hair, violet or green eyes, and a more blunt-looking face, to distinguish himself from his regular self, and Sculdig sent a note away for that one, too.

"We also need to have a look at our assets," Ron added cautiously when it was clear that Aurelius had forgotten. "And you probably need to look at your parents' wills and anything else they might have left you."

Aurelius nodded, prompting Sculdig to say: "Indeed. I will help you go over it, if you like."

"That would be great!"

Sculdig pulled a musty old book out of his desk and muttered a few spells, changing the content to a list of all their collective vaults and what they contained. Aurelius was open-mouthed by the end. The Slytherin vaults had been mostly cleaned out by their heirs, as had the Gaunt vault, but the Slytherin vault contained some very rare books which apparently were bound to the bloodline and couldn't be sold- Salazar Slytherin had been a sneaky bastard- and the Gaunt vault had a large amount of interest that had collected around a handful of knuts in the many years since the last Gaunt had been able to access it, and they also contained a chest of expensive and hard-to-obtain potions ingredients which the degenerate Gaunt descendants had apparently not found a use for. Gryffindor's vault, however, was stuffed full of artifacts, potions ingredients, books, jewelry, and so on, not to _mention_ the gold; there was a catch, though, as only the head of house or someone keyed into the vault by hand could get in, including spouses, and the title of Lord Gryffindor could only be claimed by one who had gone through a sufficient number of trials in their life- hence Aurelius's ability to claim it when James hadn't been able to, and hence Ron's ability to accept the ring from Aurelius. House Mordrake had apparently been very much into wand-making, and their vault was full of gold and all sorts of wand woods and cores, while Merlin's vault was stuffed with priceless artifacts and enormous quantities of gold, and the Peverell vaults, some of the deepest in the bank, contained rare potions ingredients, a set of armor made of pure-freaking- _diamond_ , and memories from the Peverell brothers themselves, as well as a _very_ valuable Dark grimoire. All in all, a very, _very_ nice haul.

And then there were the properties.

"A dragon reserve. We have a freaking dragon reserve. And a hippogryph farm."

"We could give Hagrid a hippogryph..."

"That's not funny, Harry!"

"I'm just saying... Anyway, we can always sell them for more liquid assets, or just keep them and let the gold keep running in. It's no skin off our noses. Look! Nine shares in Nimbus brooms, and a sixty percent share in Hogwarts. Wait, why is it sixty percent?"

"Because Helena Ravenclaw died without having kids, remember? So the school's split up among Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff."

"Oh, right. Hmm. Do you see anywhere you want to use as a base?"

They looked through the properties, eventually deciding (after a few hours' discussion with Sculdig) on living in an unplottable tower known simply as Haven, which had been in the Mordrake family for centuries, as other properties (Merlin's castle in Transylvania, Slytherin manor, Gryffindor manor, two Gryffindor houses, an inn from the Peverall line, a tavern called the Green Dolphin, a pet shop, a villa in Spain, two restaurants, a potion supply store, and three more houses in various countries,) either needed to be cleared of possible Dark artifacts, were rather rundown, or were simply too big or too far away from Britain or were otherwise unsuitable for their plans, or for habitation in general, and Aurelius did not want to visit Ravenhurst (the muggle house that had been left to him by his mother) just yet.

After that, both of them had decided that they'd had quite enough. While Sculdig was helpful and fun to talk to, once you got used to him, Aurelius felt as if his head would explode if he discussed finances and business strategy any longer, and he still had to come back for the rest of the month to discuss alliances and possibly learn some goblin fighting and warding, if they would let him, as well as be healed and relieved of the blocks on his magic, and maybe get looked at by a cursebreaker, while meanwhile Ron, despite the scholarly bent he had acquired in more recent years, could only take so much talk of assets and properties and proper upkeep and taxes without his eyes beginning to glaze over.

So when Logjam at last came in with the doctored jewelry, (an armband for Aurelius- shaped like a snake- and a rather more non-descript watch for Ron) Aurelius quickly picked his up and put it on, listening to Sculdig tell him how to activate it ("Simply had to tap a rune etched into the back, and remove it to deactivate it; it's charmed not to come off unless you yourself or your spouse remove it or a licenced Master Healer takes it off himself.)

It certainly worked. Aurelius glanced into the offered mirror and gasped; he looked like a Dark Lord with black and silver hair, black eyes, and a face that looked somewhat like a slightly sweeter and less crazed male Bellatrix Lestrange, making Ron gasp and jump back in horror. Aurelius couldn't help grinning. He could have so much fun with this!

Ron (whose watch worked with another runic sequence, with the ingenious addition that the glamorie would go off if you pressed in the knob at the side of the watch, as well as if you simply removed the watch, although that, too, was keyed to touch) turned into a blond and green-eyed wizard with angular features and a long scar down his left cheek. Then all the two wizards had to do was check a few last minute things, get some gold to go, and set up appointments for the future.

So it was that in a little over then half an hour Aurelius Gaunt and Halcyon Boniface-Gryffindor walked out of the bank, disguised, stripped of tracking charms, and carrying new instant galleon pouches, all set up with a double appointment with Murdock for medical scanning, and ready to shop and then settle into their new tower (well, Aurelius would settle in; Ron, aka Halcyon, would soon have to return to the Weasleys and spin some sort of elaborate tale about where he had disappeared to. Life, for the first time ever in both timelines, was turning out to be ok.


End file.
